#and thus feel more comfortable in my body
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Yandere! Asahi Azumane NSFW Profile
Yandere! Asahi Azumane x fem! reader
TW: kidnapping, mentions of non-con, light somnophilia, masturbation, panty sniffing, breeding, lactation kink, mentions of pegging, Asahi wears lingerie, size kink but remember that Asahi is very large and it's written with the idea that everyone is smaller than Asahi, one very, very brief mention of reading not eating enough, fem reader, MDNI
I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!
WC: 12K
HABITS:
Before having you in his life, sex was something Asahi wasn’t super comfortable with. Despite coming more out of his shell with the passing years, he’s never truly shaken off his shyness, and so the prospect of casual sex is absolutely not something he’s interested in.
He’s had a girlfriend or two and is thus not a stranger to women’s bodies, but he’s found that he’s simply just not that sexual of a man. Sex just wasn’t important to think about – he gets easily flustered even as a fully grown adult, and while he can handle mature conversations about intimacy, just the thought of being so lewd and bending someone over to have his way with them gets his ears turning red, his knees buckling and his words coming out all slurred and distorted because he can’t think clearly.
It’s embarrassing, if he’s being honest, and so he finds himself simply avoiding sex and, in turn, partners. And this extended into his personal sex life and habits as well – he’s not the most regular in terms of touching himself, preferring to just let the bout of horniness or the occasional incessant boner pass on its own.
He’ll do it occasionally to relieve tension and because he enjoyed how it feels, but it’d only happen a few times a month, if only because the embarrassment was difficult to overlook. After all, how lonely is it to look down and see his own hand wrapped around his cock? Familiar fingers gripping his red, swollen length in the comfort of his own room, the lame background music he’d put on to feel better doing absolutely nothing.
The reality is that Asahi is actually quite lonely before you step into his life – he's not quite smooth and suave enough to be successful with women or even be willing to put himself out there, and the realization that the only way for him to get some sort of sexual relief is via himself makes him too sad to indulge often.
And even once you step into his life, this is still true – except now there’s the addition feeling of yearning, wishing so strongly that it’s your fingers instead of his own (or perhaps your mouth, your breasts, or – god forbid – your pussy) that touching himself becomes even more of an emotional struggle.
And as time passes, Asahi sticks to his typical pattern of seldomly masturbating – but then his feelings grow deeper, his infatuation with you festering more and more, his thoughts about you delicately toeing the line between sweet and only slightly disturbing to downright depraved.
After all, how can he not imagine fucking you in every position he’s ever seen?
How can he not imagine the sight of you perched in his lap, pretty body bare for him to ogle while you scoop your hips up and down, moaning his name and guiding your lips to latch onto a bouncing nipple, your cunt squeezing down on him like a fucking vice?
The embarrassment is still there, of course, as is the shame and loneliness, but his feelings for you are just too strong to ignore, his desperation too insistent to quell. And with every gasping, toe-curling orgasm that wracks his body, Asahi comes closer and closer to deciding that he needs you, that just his hand or his pillow aren’t enough to satisfy him.
No, he needs you – your touch, your body, your pretty, tight, warm walls sucking him in so hard that you never let him go.
As the frequency with which he gets off increases, Asahi finds that he has a particular system for how he pleasures himself - and it involves a secret that he is not proud of.
He’s not especially proud of the fact that he relies exclusively on the (now a bit ragged) pair of panties you’d accidentally left at his apartment in order to get off, but it’s too late to change now. You’d had a rather serious dental procedure, and had turned to Asahi to request that you stay the night at his place to minimize your driving and responsibilities while the anesthesia wore off.
Asahi had of course jumped at the chance, ending the phone call with shaking fingers, a blush covering every inch of his face, and his heart practically beating out of his chest at the prospect of sharing a roof with you for a night just like couples do. And he’d been attentive to your every need; cooking you a warm soup, getting the best sheets he had and letting you sleep in his bed rather than the couch.
(Of course, he still hasn’t washed those sheets after you’d slept in them – if he tries hard enough to thinks he can smell you in the fabric, occasionally finding strands of your hair by his pillow and letting each one sit on the tip of his tongue for just a moment, savoring the taste of you.)
You’d forgotten a pair of underwear in your overnight bag, and while Asahi had meant to tell you, curiosity got the better of him and before he knew it he was picking them up, swallowing thickly, and thumbing at the double-layered section that rubs right up against your folds. It was all too easy to imagine how you must look in them – the mental image of you making a shiver erupt down his spine, needing to lean on his desk for support.
He felt a bit guilty for not returning them, but he couldn’t help it - they were so utterly you, your favorite color and a style he just knows would frame your cute little ass perfectly, your plush thighs and creamy skin sitting on display and practically begging to be kneaded, squeezed at, marked up and bruised with hickeys.
And that night, as he lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking of your face and how he’d quite literally give up his own life just to kiss you once, just to feel your lips pressed snugly against his own, slowly the more risqué thoughts are drifting into his mind.
What would it feel like to have you kiss other parts of his body? How would you taste if he kissed your collarbone, gently suckled on a nipple, licked a long stripe up the puffy lips of your cunt?
How would you react if he were to teasingly kitten lick at your clit, or if he whispered a heated, honest I love you into your ear as he pushed deep inside of you and filled you to fucking brim with his cum?
His mind slowly drifts to more lewd areas, his body growing hot as he imagines you riding him like your life depended on it, bouncing up and down and making your entire body jiggle, your tits bouncing in his face and your voice thin and gasping as you tell him that it’s too much, I can’t Asahi, please, need you to fuck me now…
And soon, he’s deciding that he can’t just ignore the stroke of luck he’d gotten that day, that he’d somehow managed to come by a pair of your panties, something he’s only been able to dream about. And as he locks his door and dims the lights a bit, he’s snatching the pair of panties he’d neatly folded and placed on top of his dresser.
Immediately, he notices the slight fresh stain against the crotch, and his eyes go wide - you had already worn them? They’d already touched the slick, warm place between your legs, the place that gets Asahi salivating and bright red with just a mere thought?
With shaking hands, he timidly brings the cloth up to his nose, inhaling and moaning aloud as the smell he can only describe as you clouds his senses. They’re pungent, proof that you must have had a long day with them adorning your pretty body, and immediately his cock is standing at attention, his tip flushed and oozing precum in copious amounts, his balls occasionally twitching in desperation, practically begging to be touched. He lays the panties down against his face, tilting his head back slightly so that the cloth stays against his nostrils, the smell of you filling every breath his takes.
He gulps, wrapping his fingers around himself, hissing slightly at the pressure and letting his eyes drift closed. He gently squeezes, bringing his hand up to the tip, using his thumb to swirl around his slit for a moment as he brings the material once more up to inhale again.
He groans, the pleasure sending shivers down his spine, and before he knows it his fist is pounding down against his pelvis, long strokes against his rock hard cock as he grunts and lowly moans your name, airy breaths of oh – oh you’re so pretty, I love you – hah, love that pretty pussy of yours.
The pace is purposefully slow, his movements still a bit timid because he’s worried he’ll come too fast, that he’s too pent up, that the smell of you will send him over the edge way too soon.
He doesn’t want this moment to end – the pleasure, the exploration, the feeling of having you the closest he’s ever had. He continues to sniff and whine, absolutely amazed at the wonderful, musky scent of you, fantasies running through his mind about the way you’d react to him touching you, to him sinking his cock inside of you again and again and turning you into a trembling, incoherent mess all for him.
He can’t help himself from imagining what you’d smell like when you’re finally in front of him, a groan slipping from his lips as he imagines the way you’d feel perched on his face, your thighs caging in his head and your fingers raking through his hair as he slurps and sucks and moans against you, desperation lacing his movements because god he wants to make you come.
He can’t help but imagine you taking every inch of him inside that warm little pussy of yours, sucking him in and gripping onto his swollen length so tightly he’s sure you must never want to let go. And his eyes flutter close his lips part slightly, drool pooling in his mouth as he loses himself in the pleasure, the feeling of his hand so much better than normal now that he has something to smell, something that’s so clearly you rather than just his thoughts. His hand picks up a bit, and as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, panties still draped over his face when he stops short, eyes flying open as his hips buck wildly.
Tentatively he sticks his tongue out once more, rolling it against the crotch of your panties. Immediately his eyes are flying open and he’s whining your name, hips bucking up as he runs his tongue along the fabric once more, relishing the taste of you against his tongue.
Curses and whimpers of your name along with yes, o-oh yes yes yes, god feels so – so good fly out of his mouth. Suddenly a particularly hard clench of his abs makes him gasp, the words slurred and nearly incoherent as he moans out ‘m gonna – I can’t hold it in, a-ah oh god ‘m-!
His whole body tenses, every breath he takes smelling like you you you as warm cum spurts up and onto his chest, the t-shirt he’s wearing utterly destroyed as it just keeps coming, rope after rope. He’s moaning your name, eyes squeezed shut as he loses himself in your taste, imagining he’s buried as deeply in you as possible, stuffing you full of his cock that he’s all you can feel, all you can see and hear and taste and think of.
It takes him a few minutes to recover, and once his breathing is steady once more he’s staring at his ceiling, in shock of how good it felt to have your scent and taste, to make it seem just a bit more realistic. He’s careful with your panties as he delicately picks them up off of his face, chest still heaving with the residual pleasure of his orgasm, dutifully and carefully folding up the cloth.
After much debate he ends up slotting the panties neatly under his pillow, swallowing heavily and practically giddy with the knowledge that he’ll be sleeping so close to something of yours, his face mere inches away from you, basically.
And that night, as he lays in bed, he’s breathing in hard, hoping to get even the slightest whiff of you from below his pillow, sleep eventually lulling him into dreaming about you laying in his arms, his cum still leaking out of you.
FAVORITE BODY PARTS:
Your hands
Asahi’s always found himself drawn to your hands. Perhaps because his job requires so much of his hands between sewing, measuring, tailoring, and everything else, or perhaps because he’s simply attracted to them.
Regardless, Asahi quickly discovers that every time he’s with you, he’s always aching to reach out and intertwine his fingers with yours, to feel your palm pressed against his own.
And really, they’re just so small compared to his own rough, calloused hands – so soft and delicate, something he can stare at for hours without growing tired.
He’ll trace every line, every mole and mark, memorizing each and every detail because it all just feels so important. He doesn’t care whether your fingers are long and dainty, shorter and wider, veiny and pale, anything and everything is pure perfection to Asahi, and he’ll be worshipping your hands no matter what condition they’re in.
Even in the early stages of his obsession with you, he’s always been interested in them – the way you idly crack your knuckles, how you mindlessly tap random rhythms against your desk when you’re bored or waiting for something, how you run your fingers over your hair when you’re focusing.
He has a tendency to stare, and while he thinks that you don’t catch him often (you d0, but based upon the fire engine blush on his cheeks and the way his eyes immediately dart away, you figure it’d be kinder to not confront him about it), he’s been fascinated since day one with how they could possibly feel, how soft your fingers would be, the exact lines on your palms, whether they get clammy easily or not.
And once your relationship moves to the point of any sort of affection, Asahi’s preference for your hands will quickly become apparent – he’s trying to hold them at any chance he can get, intertwining his fingers with your own, bringing them up to kiss each knuckle individually, listing off a thing he loves about you for each.
He loves the way they feel against his own calloused palms, how your fingers are so much shorter than his own, how when you hold your palm up against his, you barely reach his last knuckles.
It only furthers his perception of you being so in need of protection, and he loves to feel those hands against him, touching him. He loves the sight of your fingers wrapped around his thick cock, barely able to wrap fully around, such a stark contrast to the hard, pulsing, veiny expanse of his length. He loves the friction as you thrust your hand up and down, biting his lip and knitting his brows together because even though it’s just a simple handjob it feels so much better when it’s your hands and fingers wrapped around him.
He loves how they feel against him when you’re touching him, running them along his front and down below his v line, how it sends shivers down his spine just to have you ghost a fingertip against his sensitive skin.
He likes holding your hand while he fucks you, keeping his grip on you firm as his hips steadily thrust into you, the pleasure slowly mounting. His fingers clench onto your own progressively tighter, until they nearly crush yours as he stares down at you with wide eyes, his lips falling open into a desperate moan of I – coming! while he buries his face in your neck, filling you with spurt after spurt of cum.
He loves the way you scratch his down his back as he hovers over you, the pleasure and pain mixing together while he focuses on holding off his orgasm for as long as possible, not wanting to end the feeling of being inside of you, not wanting to end the way you’re clutching onto him and moaning for him, begging for him and telling him that he feels so good Asahi ‘m gonna come-!
Asahi loves your hands, and at any given time he’ll be touching them in some capacity - whether it be holding your hand, resting his cheeks against your palm or sucking at your fingers while you toy with him and make tears well up in those pretty eyes of his.
He just loves them.
His hair
He’s long harbored fantasies of you playing with his hair, to feel you giving it attention and mindlessly running your fingers through it.
He’s absolutely convinced that it would be the most comfortable, wonderful thing in the world, that it would be the single most amazing experience he’ll ever have, to have your attention solely focused on him, you touching him, maybe even telling him how lovely his hair is, how you’re jealous of how soft and smooth and pretty it is…
Just the thought of you complimenting his hair is enough to have him wildly blushing, his dark eyes staring at the floor in embarrassment and bashfulness, secretly yearning for you to tell him more, to compliment him again and again until he faints from all the blood rushing to his cheeks.
(And, though he’d never tell you, to his cock, too.)
And once you’re trapped with him in your new shared ‘home’, Asahi is still harboring the fantasy, even more so than before – and yet, he will never ask for it, never request for you to play with it, to run your nails against his scalp and gently tug on the roots.
He wont’ ask, if only because it feels wrong to request anything of you after he’s kidnapped you, when you’re so obviously still afraid of him.
So he waits in silence, praying for the day when you mindlessly start playing with his hair – he’ll always position himself so that his hair is accessible if the desire overtakes you, a small flame of hope igniting in him chest and extinguishing out every time you move and don’t come any closer to his head.
(He goes to bed on those nights with a heavy heart, his own tangling into his hair and tugging, your name slipping past his lips.)
But Asahi is a patient man, and once you do start absentmindedly playing with his hair, Asahi is beyond pleased to know that you don’t stop. You seem to grow an affinity for running your fingers through it, for braiding it, styling it, really doing anything at all.
He knows that you enjoy his hair – it becomes his favorite thing in the world to feel you play with it, and he spends hours with you sitting behind him with his head leaning back between your knees, his body starting out stiff because holy shit, he’s so close to you, but eventually relaxing, even falling into a slumber because the feeling is just so calming. He wants you to braid it, mess with it, do anything your heart desires with it because he loves the attention and the relaxing feeling it brings.
But of course, he also loves his locks for other, less wholesome reasons - the way you tug at it when he’s got his face buried between your legs, for example, and how your grip tightens against his scalp as you get closer and closer to release.
Sometimes you synch your cries with the tugs, something that Asahi is sure you’re unaware of, but he can’t help the way he forces himself to work harder, to focus more in order to get you off, in order make you have the most Earth shattering orgasm, the best feeling you’ve ever experienced, and with each hair tug he only becomes more determined.
He loves the way you get rough with it, the slight tinge of pain that accompanies it, and it never fails to make him groan, to sigh out your name against your cunt.
(Sometimes, when he’s in the mood but you physically aren’t in a position to touch his hair, he’ll reach up and tug at the strands himself, imagining your fingers instead of his own. It gets him whimpering, desperation for you so thick that he can nearly taste it, but Asahi just can’t help it. It’s an obsession in and of its own right, and he can’t deny how much he loves it.)
DRIVE:
Asahi’s drive is really quite average – he’s not an incessantly horny man by any means, and while he does have the occasional passing fantasy or wet dream, he’d never categorize himself as a hormone-driven man. He doesn’t watch porn, doesn’t follow any social media influencers whose content borders on the edge of distasteful, and he sometimes even fastforwards through sex scenes in movies simply because he finds it uncomfortable to watch two people having sex – even if it’s fake.
And so Asahi finds himself mostly avoiding intimacy on that level, though it’s not entirely on purpose. He’s by no means a saint, though; he’s still human, and when he sees a woman with particularly large breasts or perfectly manicured fingers there’s always the fleeting thought of what if, the fantasies clawing in the back of his mind of how he’d love to latch onto a nipple and suck, to imagine how much better those fingers would look wrapped around his cock or cupping at his balls.
He rarely touches himself, sure, but he’s not a stranger to sex, his limited experience still experience nonetheless.
And so while it’s very, very easy to fluster or rile him up, he generally isn’t hard and desperate to fuck you at all times. He values you for much more than just your pussy – you’re his dream woman, the person he views as his life-long partner, the one he wants to spend every waking moment with and share every last breath. He’s content to just hold you, to press a soft kiss against your temple and whisper a little confession of love rather than pin you down and fuck you until you’re crying.
(Of course, he won’t say no if you were to beg him to touch you, his face only turning red and his voice cracking a bit as he rushes out a quick yes! Um, yes of course, I’ll uh, be right back… and then leaving the room to take a few deep breaths and whisper to himself that it will be fine, she wants you, you’ll do well, don’t overthink it.)
Asahi is very dependent on what you want, always concerned about your opinion and vote and desires, and so while there are times that those wild hormones do in fact take over and his body starts begging him to slip down that cute pair of panties he bought for you and sit you directly on his cock, to bounce you up and down and use you like some life sized sex toy, watching as your breasts jiggle and your face contorts up into that sexy, perfect little ‘o’, Asahi won’t until you make the move to do so.
(It’s out of respect and lucidity for your consent and state of mind. He already feels guilty enough from having stalked you and stolen you away to live in his modest apartment with him, and forcing himself onto you is absolutely the last thing he wants to do.)
He’s not constantly horny, but it doesn’t take too much to rile him up. A few suggestive words and lingering touches can have him needy and eager to touch and please you in mere seconds – casually tell him over dinner that you feel so empty, Asahi, won’t you come fill me up and watch the way his entire body stiffens, brown eyes meeting your gaze and immediately looking at the table in embarrassment, his face flushed a bright red and his knee bouncing under the table as he mutters out a are – are you sure? I don’t want to leave you hungry – not that you haven’t eaten enough! That’s not what I’m saying, I just – um, I uh… Do you really want that?
(His voice gets a bit vulnerable at the end there, his tone higher and his eyes daring to meet yours again, his mousy brown hair falling around his jaw like a halo.)
Leave a hand on his bicep and gently squeeze, biting your lip and making a show of raking your gaze up and down his body and you’ll see the way he gulps, the sound audible as he shudders a breath, his pants already growing tight and nudging against you.
(You can actually feel the warmth of him through his jeans when he does this – cock warm and ready and throbbing.)
For him, your pleasure is the number one priority, and as such it’s his duty to prioritize what you want when you want it, rather than his own desires. You should be in charge, should be the one calling the shots and telling him that you’re okay with him fucking you like he so desperately wants. You should be the one to tell him that it’s okay each time he nervously and compulsively asks you if it’s okay for him to kiss you or touch your waist or unclasp your bra or moan your name or come -
And even once you’re both naked and touching one another, he views his own orgasms as a background to yours. He mostly just wants you to feel good, and he’s pretty much at your beck and call for whenever you’d like to feel the euphoric high that only an orgasm can bring you, in whatever way you’d like him to get you there. He’s game to finger you, to eat you out, to fuck your cute little pussy that makes him moan and whine every time, even your ass if you bring it up.
Asahi never fails to deliver, and he’ll never, ever complain. He loves to touch you and get you moaning, even if he’s a bit shy and flustered the whole time. It makes him so, so happy to know that he’s the one touching you, that he’s the one making you feel so good and satisfied.
But before you begin feeling any desire to be with him in an intimate setting, Asahi still has urges. He still very, very badly wants to touch you and feel you against his skin, to trace out the map of your body and chart every mole, hair, blemish and roll.
You’re just so fucking perfect to him, and he can’t help but desire you physically when he sees the way your breasts bounce as you try to reach the top shelf in the kitchen (he’s more than happy to come to your rescue and grab the jar off the top shelf, secretly smitten with himself because he’d put it there with the hopes of creating this moment).
He can’t help but want to taste your saliva when he sees you sweating on a particularly hot day, the bead rolling down your temple and following the curve of your cheekbones, his tongue coming out to lick a long stripe along his lips because fuck, he bets you taste sweet.
These urges are still present and strong, but because of his commitment to not force you into anything, Asahi finds that he has to satisfy himself in other ways. That is, it doesn’t necessarily feel good to sneak into the extra bedroom he’d transformed into your personal room, but as soon as he catches a whiff of your scent and sees your sleeping, relaxed form on the mattress, his mouth goes dry and he’s shuffling forward before he even realizes it.
You’re sprawled out on the mattress he’d bought especially for you, the soft t-shirt and short set he'd gotten you sitting haphazardly on your hips and riding up to expose a bit of your stomach. It makes him gulp, his eyebrows drawing in a bit as he slowly, carefully, sits down onto the empty space beside you on the bed.
He can’t stop staring at you – you’re so pretty, and as your lips part slightly and you breath, he can’t help but whimper slightly – he can only imagine how it would feel to kiss you, to feel your lips against his own and feel your tongue brush against his.
Would you bite his lip, tease him with a bit of pain before kissing him harder, pushing your tongue inside and moaning into his mouth because it just feels too good? He hopes so, and it’s not long before he’s imagining all of the other things that mouth of yours could do – he’s sure your kisses would feel like heaven against his chest, lips wrapped around a nipple and sucking lightly, tongue flattening out to run over the pebbled skin again and again and making him shiver.
He’s sure that your lips would feel even better lower, pressed against the juncture of his hip and thigh, moving up and to the side, slowly – so fucking slowly – moving towards where he really needs you, where he’s pulsing and throbbing and leaking so much precum that it almost looks like he’s already reached his high.
He closes his eyes briefly as he imagines the way you’d suckle on his tip, your pretty lips puckered and those eyes of yours staring up at him from between his knees, how you’d pull back to press small kisses and kitten licks against his sensitive skin.
The thought has him groaning lightly, a hand coming down to carefully push his boxers down just a hair, just enough to let his cock spring free, slapping heavily against his lower stomach as he bites his lip. He makes sure to settle the waistband just below his balls, a hand idly moving to grope and squeeze as he continues to stare at you. It feels wrong to be touching himself while so close to you, while you’re totally unaware, but he just can’t help it – he’d been furiously pounding away moments ago in his own bed, eyes squeezed shut and flashes of you playing through his mind, but the knowledge eats at him that you’re only a wall away, your pretty body ripe to ogle and fantasize about and right fucking there…
Guilt weighs heavily in the back of his mind, but as he wraps his fist around his base and slowly pulls up, the heaving breath he lets out has the shame creeping to the back of his mind. It’s so much better with you in his sight – he watches the rise and fall of your chest, your breaths and soft and light, matching the pace of his fist with it.
His toes curl and his lip catches between his teeth, the dull, teasing pleasure from such a slow pace making his head tilt back. He stays like this for what feels like hours – his eyes never moving from your sleeping form, his pace matched to your breathing, just simply breathing in deeply and letting his eyes flutter closed as he exhales, the scent of you you you filling his lungs and making him feel dizzy.
Some forty minutes later, Asahi’s breath is hitching, little whimpers and bitten back moans filling the otherwise quiet air, his fist slowly speeding up out of his control, his orgasm slowly building and mounting, his cock so sensitive and hard and wet –
He comes with a strangled, too-loud I love you, his eyes struggling to stay open as he strokes his way through it, his hips bucking up into his fist and cum landing in ropes along his fingers and wrist. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, he’s chanting under his breath, his breathing uneven and labored as he tries his best to be quiet, terrified to wake you up.
You’re still so ethereal in front of him, looking like an angel as he slows his fist to a stop, his entire body trembling at the aftereffects of his orgasm. He swallows heavily, shaking fingers stained with cum reaching out and nearly, barely brushing against the soft skin of your forearm, clenching his teeth tightly at the contact as it sends one last, final push of pleasure through him, a few final beads of cum oozing from his tip and making him whimper your name.
He doesn’t touch you any more than that, scared to wake you up or cross some invisible line of privacy and consent, but thus starts a pattern. He’ll sneak into your room every week or so, spending far too long simply staring at you, moving to every angle imaginable just to see you, to see all of you, all the while furiously pumping his fist, doing his best to bite back every moan because god, what would you say if you saw him?
(He hopes you wouldn’t stop him, that you’d instead berate him for being so dirty, that you’d reach out and stop his wrist, telling him in that lovely, sweet voice of yours to earn it, Asahi, show me that you deserve to come. And god, the fervor and desperation in his movements as he’d lick and suck between your legs is too good to be embarrassing.)
MAIN THREE KINKS:
Praise
As a general rule, Asahi absolutely crumbles the moment any sort of positive comment towards him falls from your lips. He’s never been the most confident man on the face of the planet, and while time and a successful career have helped mitigate that a bit, he’s still a bit doubtful about himself, always just slightly insecure and unable to believe in himself.
And for the most part he doesn’t mind, but he always, always appreciates your support in the area of his lacking – declrataion of you being happy or grateful or pleased with him leave Asahi’s throat feeling tight and his palms clammy. But specifically, Asahi has little to no confidence in himself in the bedroom – and to hear you say anything even remotely positive about his skills in bed gets him hot under the collar, the desire to please you making his fingers itch and his pants feel much too tight.
His lack of confidence between the sheets stems from the belief that he’s sure that he won’t be able to satisfy you, that his touch and love won’t be enough to get you off, that you’ll end up just using your own fingers because he just wasn’t good enough.
He’s convinced that you’ll grow to prefer your own touches and ministrations over his own, that you’ll simply sigh and roll your eyes when he asks you in that timid voice if you’d sit on his face, if you’d let him play with you, if you could just please let him taste you, he’s been thinking about it all day…
It’s never ending cycle of negative thoughts and assumptions, always absolutely sure that things will go the worst possible way once he becomes intimate with you, and honestly you’ll quickly pick up on this.
When he’s hovering over you, brown eyes staring wildly down at you, impossibly wide while his mouth opens and closes like a fish, unsure of what to say or do because you��re finally right in front of him, like he’s been dreaming of for months, you’ll notice the way he’s too stiff to move, his every muscle tense and his eyebrows knitted together so tightly that he almost looks like he’s in pain.
(A few soothing words will have him instantly relaxing, though – run your hands up and down his arms, cooing at him that he’s so handsome, that he looks so good over me Asahi, you’re so pretty, and maybe tell him that you’re so excited, you’ve already made me feel so good baby, and you haven’t even touched me yet and you’ll see the way he visibly perks up, embarrassment written across his face but this sort of shy, boyish joy taking over as he leans down and kisses you. The kiss is too sloppy, too needy, too wet, but it’s the push he needs to finally press himself against you, your slick folds against the sensitive underside of his cock making him hiss into the kiss and his arms nearly give out.)
He’s too nervous to try fingering you or eating you out the first time he’s got you naked in front of him, but he also knows that you need prep before you take him, his girth enough to stretch your walls out to a painful degree if you don’t get some aid.
(Take the initiative and guide his fingers down your body, going slow and making all sorts of keening and sighing noises, until he’s finally pressed up against you. Tell him that his fingers feel good when you’re helping him rub slow circles over your clit. Overdo your hips bucking at the sensation just to give him that extra assurance that he’s doing a good job. Gasp his name as he slips a finger inside and purposefully clench down on him, letting him hear you babble on about how he feels so good and he’s so big and he’s exactly what I’ve been imagining… You’ll see the determined purse of his lips, every ounce of concentration going into making you cry out his name, making you squeal out more praise, getting you to gush on his fingers and tongue and give him what he’s been dreaming of for months – the sight of your pretty body convulsing up in an orgasm, your cunt spasming and clenching down on him like a fucking vice.)
Towards the beginning of your sexual relationship you’ll find that more often than not he’s at a standstill, something that is more than obvious to you, and in moments like these it’s best if you just tell him what to do. When you take off your bra, breasts bared for him as he unabashedly stares, his lips parted and his eyes wide, guide his hand to squeeze at one, sighing at the sensation and telling him that it feels good baby, you can go a little harder if you want, too.
When he’s carefully (and almost tentatively) rubbing your back, giving you a massage and doing his best to relieve your back pain without hurting you, moan out his name and tell him right there, god Asahi you’re so good at this. It’ll leave him blushing and squirming, his cock growing hard and suddenly he’s hearing your moans as moans, seeing the pleased expressions on your face as being expressions of pleasure.
You need to follow his every action up with a bit of praise the first few times you fuck – when he slips a finger or two inside, bite your lip and make a show of gasping, telling him that he feels so good, please Asahi, just like that!
When he’s going down on you for the first time, tangle your fingers through his hair and tell him that he’s doing so well, it feels so – so good Asahi, mmm please don’t stop! And when he fucks you for the first time, gasp sharply and moan, tell him that he’s s-s0 big! Stretches me out so good, ngh –
(Asahi has always seemed gentle to you, even after having kidnapped you – tall, sure, but more afraid of his own shadow than anything. But once you moan that out, that gentle man you’re familiar with is gone – you realize just how strong he really is as his hips crash into yours, your cunt stretched and nearly split open with the sheer power and vigor of his thrusts, each one seeming to reach deeper inside of you, coming faster and faster until your moans at all forced, genuine incoherent nonsense slipping from your lips because god, you’ve never been fucked like this before – this fully, this desperately.)
He loves to know that he’s the one making you feel so good, making you cry out and curl your toes. When you say things like ‘so good Asahi’, or ‘yes, just like that’, he’ll become a blushing, flustered mess, but it’ll only drive him even further in his mission to please you, to get you to come.
After all, in his mind, your pleasure is so much more important than his own, and he’ll give you anything and everything he possibly can to get your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your pussy clamping down around him.
His actions will pick up speed and eagerness, and if you weren’t so fucked out while he’s got his tongue against your clit or his cock stretching you out, you’d be able to practically feel the desperation to get you to orgasm rolling off of him in waves.
He just wants to know that what he’s doing is feeling good, that you’re enjoying him, that you’re loving this wonderful intimate moment as much as he is. He loves your vocalness, and it helps his confidence to hear you so openly praising him and his body.
So tell him, while he’s hovering over you, his cheeks flushed, his hair falling in waves over his shoulders and a few beads of sweat rolling down his temples, how big he feels inside of you, how you’re sure that nobody could fuck you like Asahi can, and he’ll make the cutest little gasp, before he’s thrusting into you even harder, burying his face into your neck and chanting your name over and over.
He loves it.
Breeding
But unlike a lot of men, this kink doesn’t stem exclusively from a sense of possessiveness or ownership over you. (Of course, he very much is possessive over you and hates the idea of another man interacting with you, but still.)
Instead, Asahi’s fascination with the concept of breeding you mostly stems from a genuine desire to knock you up. Asahi craves a domestic life with you; the mere idea of being one big, happy family is something that makes his heart melt, that makes him giddy with excitement and an embarrassed flush spread across the bridge of his nose. There’s so many cute, wholesome things that Asahi wants to do with his future children; family pictures, reading to them before bed, dressing them up in his latest fashion designs, making them go eww! when they see Mommy and Daddy kissing…
And when you step into the picture, this natural desire for children only steps up, increasing astronomically because Asahi genuinely believes that you’re his soulmate, the woman he’ll spend the rest of his life with, and he couldn’t be happier.
And while he’d never force it upon you, he really loves the idea of getting you pregnant and giving you the family that you both deserve. He wants to give you the baby he so desperately wants you to have, to see you softly rubbing your tummy and smiling at him, showing the world exactly who you love, who you choose to be with, who you’ll be spending the rest of your life loving and loyally staying alongside. He thinks he’d be a good father, in his oh so humble opinion, and that he’s completely, absolutely sure that you’d be a wonderful mother, and that together the two of you could have a happy, perfect family.
But of course, Asahi is no pure angel saint – he may not be the most possessive over you, but he can’t deny the wonderful side effects that come with pinning you down and breeding you. That is, there’s something about the fact that it’s his cock emptying load after load inside of you that gets him harder than he’s ever been in his life.
There’s something about the fact that it’s his name you’re moaning out to finish inside of you that makes him hot under the collar, his fingers twitching and his thighs flexing involuntarily because god, you’d sound so fucking good moaning his name.
The idea that it’s because of him that the cute little bump throwing your body off proportion even exists makes him feral, hands eagerly ripping at your clothes and slotting you in his lap, grasping at your hips and physically bouncing you up and down on his cock until he’s groaning your name and stuffing you full again and again and again, leaving you dripping white and smelling his cum, like him.
He’s not the most possessive yandere, sure, but even Asahi can get behind the idea of marking you as his own, of claiming you in the most natural, animalistic way. It satisfies something deep within him – the same thing that urges him to rush forward and keep you from getting too close to the open flames on the stove, the same thing that urges him to buy the pretty flowers on his way home from work and tuck one behind your ear. He’s never given much stock to gender stereotypes, but it just feels right to have you be his sweet little housewife, to be your big, strong protector, to be your provider in more ways than one.
And while bringing you gifts and keeping a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach are certainly ways he loves to provide for you, he’s more than willing to provide for your more carnal needs, too.
He’s more than happy to fill you to the brim with his cum, the sticky white dribbling out of you in big globs that he pressed back in with a thumb, voice shaky as he jokes about having to buy some sort of a plug just to keep everything inside.
(The next morning you find a pretty, purple plug on your bedside table, Asahi looking sheepish as he tells you that it’s the only way to really be sure, you know? Can’t have you wasting anything…)
He’s more than happy to keep his cock inside of you after he’s come, to make sure you’re plugged up, to keep you laying so that you’re hips are elevated, so that his cum will surely reach your womb, so that your body will have no choice but to give him exactly what he wants.
And during sex, the thoughts racing through Asahi’s head absolutely reinfornce this – as his high approaches, there’s a mantra repeating over and over in his head to come inside her, fuck a baby into her, get her pregnant so she’ll never leave you.
His hips will speed up, the sound absolutely obsene as he throws your legs over his shoulders, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he watches your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts, the mental image of you swollen and round and so fucking fertile leaving his head spinning and oh fuck fuck fuck –
He’s coming with a whine of your name, burying his face into your neck and grasping tightly onto your breast, chanting your name under his breath and pressing himself just a bit deeper inside, anything to try and increase the chances of it taking.
The idea of knocking you up clouds his senses as his hips plow into you, the sensation so overwhelming that he’s nearly crying, but fat tears welling up and streaming down his face to land on your own while he clutches onto your hand, the emotional end of realizing that he might get you pregnant hitting him at full speed and making him dizzy with desire and love.
He’ll oftentimes whisper sweet nothings about how beautiful you’ll look, how much he wants to give you children, how deeply he wants to come inside while his hips are pounding away, practically ramming into your cervix with each powerful, passionate thrust.
He loves the idea of having a baby with you, and it’s just an added bonus that giving it to you feels so good.
Size kink
No matter your size, Asahi will be taller, stronger, bigger.
He’s six feet tall, muscular, and despite his timid disposition, he’s very much a force to be reckoned with. Despite transitioning to a career less focused on physical prowess, Asahi largely retained his physique.
He’s a little softer now, the muscles covered by a small layer of fat, but he’s still got definition lining every inch of his body, the short-sleeved t-shirts he wears doing very little to hide the outline of his biceps. When his shirt rides up as he pulls his hair back into its signature bun, it’s impossible to miss the way he seems to tower over everything and everything, his presence something commanding the room, making everyone else just feel so small.
And while none of it is on purpose, Asahi slowly notices with time just how pronounced this difference is.
He sees it in the way that your palms compare as he timidly snake his hand against yours, swallowing heavily and avoiding eye contact because god, not only are your hands soft and warm, they’re practically engulfed by his, the sight making something scratch at the back of his throat.
He sees it in the way that your arms just barely wrap around his torso when you hug him, your fingers lacing together. (Of course, this took him a very long time to notice – he was too flustered by the fact that you’re hugging him to really notice any details, and even then he’d been too preoccupied by the feeling of your clothed breasts pressing against his chest, willing everything in himself to not get hard, to not let the blood rush to his cock as he imagines the way your legs would feel wrapped around his waist.)
As time passes, Asahi discovers that not only is he noticing these things, but there’s something about the sight that gets him hot under the collar, his breathing more strained than usual and his voice coming out a bit crackly.
And really, this kink stems from his protectiveness of you and his need to feel like your savior, but there’s just something about having you underneath him, seeing how small your body is in comparison to his own that really gets to him.
The idea of you being a fraction of his size, of your body being so much cuter, tinier, and softer than his own is something that makes Asahi blush, the red spreading from the tips of his ears all the way down to his collarbone, the idea that you’re such opposites yet so perfect for one another simultaneously warming his heart and begging him to fuck you because he just loves you so much.
And while your size difference is something that Asahi has always rationally known about, it’s so much different to actually see it, to be physically forced to recognize that he’s just so big compared to you.
When you’re naked below him, looking up at him with those vulnerable, beautiful eyes while you clutch the pillow underneath your head and shakily swallow, Asahi is hit with the sudden realization that you so clearly need him, need his help to do everything, and that includes turning you into a panting, drooling mess with his fingers, tongue and cock.
He loves the foreign surge of dominance he feels, how powerful and manly it makes him feel to see you under him, looking up at him like that, your lips swollen and puffy from kissing and biting them, from enjoying the pleasure he’s so focused on delivering to you.
He loves watching you take his cock; how it stretches you out to the point where you’re tensed up, fisting the sheets and telling him to slow down because you need time to adjust to his massive length.
(Of course, Asahi immediately stops, panic eating away at him because what if he hurt you? There’s not a sadistic bone in his body, and when you have to tell him things like that it only reminds him how easily he gets lost in you, how quickly he succumbs to the carnal urge to just fuck you so hard that you’re screaming his name and showing everyone exactly who owns the tight little pussy he’s fucking and filling with his cum.)
He loves to intertwine his fingers with yours while he thrusts into you, marveling at how his fingers dwarf your own while his cock stretches you out so fully, so completely that it’s almost visible against the skin of your navel.
He’ll purposefully fuck you in positions that really showcase this difference in size, too – of course his favorite is missionary, getting to look at you while he slowly rolls his hips into yours, but there’s something exquisite about folding you into a mating press, too. The way he’s strong enough to practically force your ankles up to your ears, his entire body hovering over yours as he pounds into you, watching the way you seize up because the angle is just so fucking deep.
It’s not his favorite, but he’ll fuck you from behind, the position slowly morphing from doggy into prone bone as he becomes more and more desperate for you, soon laying almost completely on top of you while his hips stutter into yours, the sensation of warm cum flooding you and the feeling of Asahi in every inch of your space making your head spin.
Even non-penetrative positions have this effect on him – watching you settle between his legs and eagerly jerk him off gets him clutching onto the nearest surface, the sight of your fingers, so small and sweet and pretty compared to his own, making his knees feel weak because fuck you’re so delicate compared to him.
And god, your mouth? It’s over for him the moment that your lips wrap around his tip, the sight of a much-too-big cock forcing its way down your throat threatening to bring him to orgasm much, much too soon.
Every part of him is bigger, and he just loves how obvious his muscles and height make it that he’s the protector in the relationship, that he’s the one providing for you, keeping you safe, keeping you happy.
Because after all, he’d do anything to keep you happy.
OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:
Hair pulling
Quite honestly, Asahi’s not sure where this kink came from. His scalp has always been a bit sensitive, his hair silky and in remarkably good shape for little he brushes it, for how poorly he cares for it. And while he’s kept it long for all of his adult life, he’s still just the slightest bit insecure about being a man with long hair – the lingering stares of others making him slump his shoulders a bit, wishing they’d stop staring.
And so, he’s never really viewed his hair as something sexual – no girl has ever really pulled it, and on the rare occasions when he’s touched himself, a hand never manages to travel north of his chest.
And even on the more practical side of things, he’s never really been one for pain, for enjoying the stinging sensation of sharpness against his skin, of feeling the dull throb of a bruise being pressed on. He’s never really found it to be sexy, and by extension he’s never bothered to explore hair pulling.
But then he becomes intimate with you and as he’s kissing you, tongue tracing the shape of your teeth and moaning into your mouth he feels it –
Your nails scraping against his scalp, digging in and grabbing a fistful of hair, pulling and tugging.
He actually moans, the sound high and whiny and so girly it nearly makes him cry, but he can’t help but beg you to do it again, a hand coming up to secure your place against his scalp.
There’s just something about the your fingers tunnel into his hair, gripping the brown locks between your nimble fingers while his tongue works fast, desperate circles against your clit, his fingers curling and arching just the way you told him to. Every tug at his hair drives him to work harder, to suck harder and lick faster because he just wants to please you, and the way you’re mixing pain with pleasure is making his hips buck against the mattress, unable to control himself as he whines against your cunt.
When your nails lightly scrape against his scalp, Asahi can’t help but close his eyes and moan, the vibrations going straight up your spine as he doubles his efforts, wanting to get you to come to an almost unhealthy degree.
And yet, as your hands pull harder, coaxing him into fingerfucking you harder, moving in the specific motion against your clit he knows you love, all you can do is throw your hair back and moan, little gasps of oh Asahi, oh please – I’m so close, don’t stop!
There’s something about the light touch of pain that makes him shiver, that makes the excitement stand up at the back of his neck, his eyes growing dilated and his efforts even more vigorous because fuck, you deserve to come, and by god is Asahi going to be the man to do it.
It’s become a staple of him giving you head – you always burrow your fingers into the loose, flowing brown locks, pulling him ever closer to your sopping cunt, something Asahi couldn’t be happier about.
And if you really want to leave him a flustered, panting mess, lightly tug at his hair without any warning in a non-sexual context – reach over during breakfast and give a light tug and you’ll see in real time as his face turns red, gaping like a fish and letting a hand drop his fork and wander down to his crotch, the table covering his motions. (Though the sound of a zipper slowly undoing is hardly difficult to identify, nor is the way the slick, clicking noises echo through the room as he shakily tells you to f-finish your breakfast…)
Lingerie
Perhaps it’s a result of his heightened attention paid to fashion, or perhaps it’s just Asahi’s nature, but as his infatuation with you develops, so too does his desire to see you all dressed up for him.
He doesn’t view you as a doll, per se, but Asahi finds that one of his guiltiest pleasures is to put you in clothing he designs specifically for you – pretty colors and cuts he thinks accentuate your curves, always sucking in a sharp breath and muttering out this awed, overtly genuine wow that makes you too embarrassed to respond.
And it’s sweet, more than anything, because the dresses and outfits he creates for you really are flattering – except that as your sexual relationship develops, he starts taking certain liberties, his creations becoming more and more risqué.
The lingerie he designs for you is tasteful, at least – it’s flattering as well, always in shades of pinks, reds, and white to enhance your natural coloring, his fingers always trembling when he helps you put them on, catching a bit of lace between his thumb and index finger and sighing out your name in a tone much too airy to be normal.
You look absolutely stunning – and he finds that fucking you with the lingerie still decorating your body only makes his kisses more heartfelt, longer, more needy because you’re just so damn pretty all dressed up and practically wrapped up like a gift for him.
But really, where’s Asahi’s true lingerie kink lies is not in you wearing it, but rather in him wearing it.
It’s beyond embarrassing to him and something that would take a long time for him to admit, but there’s a certain part of him that would actually like to try on a few of the lingerie sets he sees in magazines, tv and social media. Some of them are just so fucking pretty, soft pastels with lots of lace and ruffles, things that scream feminine and soft, pretty and fuckable.
And while Asahi knows he’s supposed to be the ‘man’ in the relationship, it’s a guilty pleasure that he just can’t shake – and so, when you one day catch him staring at an ad for a brand new baby blue two piece set on his phone, you ask him if he’s going to get it, cocking a brow at him because it’s rare for him to ever buy you lingerie sets rather than make them himself.
(He’d told you once that he can fit them to your body better than any manufacturer can. And what he hadn’t told you is that there’s a certain allure to knowing that you’re wearing something that he made you, not some unknown, random worker with no appreciation for you or your beauty.)
Immediately Asahi is scrambling to cover it up, nervously chuckling and denying your words, but when it shows up the next day and Asahi mumbles if you’d be willing to um, give me an opinion about something, you’re intrigued. And as you open the door to reveal him, familiar brown eyes are unable to meet your own gaze, his body language clearly nervous at your scrutiny.
But really, the sight of the six foot tall, burly man clad in the soft material hugging his body and bringing out the natural tan color of his skin leaves you oddly breathless, the sight strangely bizarre and erotic.
The bra cups are a bit loose, though you can still see his pretty, pink nipples hard as a rock underneath the sheer material. The bra may be loose, but the pair of lacy, red panties most certainly are not – his cock threatens to burst out of it at any moment, his balls hanging on by a thread to stay inside of the dainty fabric.
And when you take a few steps forward, looking at him with wide eyes, he feels his heart drop when you say oh Asahi, you’re so beautiful.
(If you look closely enough, you can see his balls visibly clench at the compliment, the skin angry and red at the tightness of the panties.)
So while it’s not the manliest thing, Asahi can’t deny that it makes him feel good, and you’re always so touchy and sweet when he’s wearing it.
And so when he’s in more of a submissive mood, wanting you to take care of him, dote on him, love him and show him that you’re just as desperate and hopelessly in love as he is, he throws it on and sits patiently on the bed, waiting with baited breath for you to pull the strap out and make him feel like a good little boy.
(And god his moans are pretty, his little gasps and whines when you toy with the fabric making you power-hungry, the sight of his cute little hole clenching as you toy with him, bent over and panties pushed to the side is the stuff of fantasies – he’s just so fucking obedient when he’s all dressed up for you.)
BIGGEST FANTASY:
Going hand in hand with his breeding kink and his want of starting a family with you, Asahi has a few guilty pleasures when it comes to the idea of a pregnant you.
He just can’t help it – his biggest domestic fantasy is having a family with you, and every time he sees a pregnant woman out and about something inside of him just snaps, the flood of images of you all knocked up making his knees nearly buckle.
(Of course, in these images you’re sometimes clothes and sometimes not – the clothes, when included, are always too small, making your breasts look even bigger and your stomach ever rounder.)
Something about the roundness of your body, how your curves are enhanced, how you look so fucking fertile really gets to him, especially with how your breasts begin to swell.
Something about watching as your nipples begin to darken, your areolas get larger, and the way the flesh begins to hang heavier, looking so full and ready to be emptied really gets to him, sparking some odd, primal instinct in him that he didn’t even know he had.
He’s staring constantly, brown eyes darting to the way his t-shirts are stretched taut against your belly bump and engorged breasts, how you look so perfect and domestic and like a real mother.
He’ll be much too shy to say anything, too nervous at your rejection of the fantasy he holds close to his heart, but he really wants nothing more than to just latch onto a leaking, aching nipple, wrap his lights tightly around it, circle his tongue over the sensitive skin, and suck.
He wants to taste you; feel the white liquid against his tongue, nurse off of you in such a human, natural way.
He almost feels as if it’s his reward - he put the baby inside of you that’s causing you to produce, he’s the one heading to work everyday, making money to bring back to you and your slowly growing family.
He’s the one that spent hours between your legs, fingering your pretty cunt and giving you load after load after load of hot, potent cum.
He’s your protector, and it’s his deepest fantasy to be rewarded for all his hard work with your breastmilk. He’ll never, ever admit it, but when he fondles your breasts and nibbles at them, sucking at them with a vigor you’ve never experienced before, those are the thoughts racing through his mind.
“I’m home!” Asahi calls, closing the front door and letting out a small, satisfied sigh at the sight of his little home. Touches of your style are everywhere - the couch has your favorite color throw pillows, your favorite art is on the walls, pictures of the two of you hanging in frames on the shelf above the fireplace on the far side of the living room. It makes him smile, something warm and fuzzy settling in his chest.
He slips his shoes off, shrugging off his coat and venturing further into the house. Normally you’d be in the kitchen by now, preparing dinner and wanting to have a nice meal while the two of you discussed your days, telling one another how much you missed the other. When he doesn’t find you in the kitchen, his brow arches and he calls your name once more, a small pang of panic bolting through him at the thought of you not responding.
“Oh! You’re home!” He hears you exclaim from behind him, and heaves out a small sigh of relief. He turns around with a soft smile on his face, but that smile vanishes as soon as he takes in your appearance.
You’re wearing one of his old tee shirts, the material a bit light and comfortable, and a pair of your favorite panties peeking out from under the hem. You look so fucking pretty that it takes him a moment to register your words, brown eyes dilating and focusing on the sight of you in his shirt, the smooth expanse of your thighs, the smile on your face that gets his knees weak. But as he takes in the full sight of you, something else catches his eye – immediately saliva is pooling against his tongue, his fingers twitching and his tongue flicking out to lick over his lips.
Two small, uneven pools of wet form right over the swell of your breasts, staining the fabric a darker shade and making his mouth water slightly. The sight of your chest straining heavily against the shirt has him taking a step forward hastily, aching to get closer and closer.
You notice his staring, and you scratch the back of your neck a bit awkwardly. “Welcome home, love. Sorry, I was just about to go start pumping but the laundry had me busy. I lost track of time.”
He just nods, not able to take his gaze away from you. You blink, before quirking the corner of your lips up. Although your husband had never asked, you’d noticed his affinity for your chest increasing tremendously after you’d begun lactating - he thought he was smooth when he’d oh so innocently walk in on you with your pump, watching your milk fill up the bottle, but you knew better. The fixation in his eyes as he stared was telling, the way he’d play with his hands and fingers, struggling to keep eye contact with you making it oh so apparent. And so, with a confidence that only he could allow you to develop over the years, you realize that maybe it was alright that you hadn’t started dinner quite yet.
You bite your lip and slowly walk up to him, until you’re close enough to hear the slight wheeze in his breaths. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob as his eyes dart between your face and your breasts, trying to decide where to look. You almost laugh. “Asahi...I have an idea, if you’d be willing to try it out.”
His gaze meets yours with a bit of reluctance, and his brows tighten. “S-sure! What did you have in mind?”
You smile, leaning up on your tippy toes and placing a kiss against his cheek. “Well, since I haven’t started dinner yet, and I didn’t get to start pumping, and you’ve been gone all day, working hard and making me proud, I think you deserve a little reward.”
Asahi visibly flushed at this, and his eyes widened a bit. “A reward? What do you mean?”
You bite your lip, reaching out to take one of his large hands into your own, before carefully placing it over one of your breasts. He gasps sharply, his entire body tensing as he feels the wetness underneath his palm. You look up at him, doing your best to give him as seductive and sultry a look as you can muster.
“Well, I was thinking that maybe I could give you a little treat? As a thank you for everything that you do for me. It’s been waiting all day, and I’m so, so full… would you like that? Do you want a little snack as a reward?” You ask, watching his reaction carefully. His brown eyes are so warm, so genuinely shocked, and for a second you almost wonder if he’ll say no, or push you away. But before you can take back your words, he’s eagerly nodding, walking you backwards into the living room and settling you down into a sitting position on the couch. He crouches below you, on his knees in between your legs, still in the nice clothes he’d worn to work today. You grab the hem of your shirt, carefully lifting it over you and throwing it to some unknown part of the room. The cold air hits you, and you feel your nipples harden and the skin of your breasts tighten up.
Asahi lets out a mix between a moan and a whimper at the sight of your bare chest, staring in awe with his mouth open. When you see him not moving, you carefully reach your hands up, cupping your breasts and gently squeezing, causing a small stream of milk to leak out of each nipple.
“Darling, don’t you want your reward?” You ask, squeezing extra hard, sending a spurt of liquid out, his eyes following the arc as he licks his lips.
Asahi gulps, a low growl escaping him as he gently pulls your hands away, instead latching his mouth around a nipple and sucking -
You sigh softly, the feeling of his lips applying pressure and his tongue swiping over your nipple much more erotic than you had been expecting. His lips work against you, tongue swirling against your sensitive areolas as his cheeks hollow. He moans against you, the taste of you overwhelming his senses and setting his body alight with pleasure. He can feel his pants growing uncomfortably tight, but he just sucks harder, listening to your coos and cries above him.
His hand reaches out to cup your other breast, squeezing a bit more firmly and watching the milk leak, before he leans back, releasing the nipple from his mouth with a popping sound, and squeezes once more, harshly, watching as a stream of milk arcs through the air and directly into his parted, awaiting mouth. You both moan, and he swallows. He rubs his fingers over your nipples, and looks up at you, licking his lips.
“I think it’s time you showed me just how good you taste down here, too.” He says, grinding his clothed erection against your crotch. You moan, nodding your head and tangling your fingers into his hair, watching his eyes flutter closed at the sensation.
And, thirty minutes later as he’s pulling out of you, hissing slightly at the overstimulation, Asahi can only pant, a hand once again coming up to lightly squeeze at your breast, the kiss he gives you heated enough to have you melting against the mattress, too relaxed to even notice the way he pushes himself back in again, gasping into your mouth and pushing through the overstimulation because he needs this, needs you.
After all, he can never get enough of you.
#yandere haikyuu#yandere asahi#yandere asahi azumane#haikyuu smut#_haikyuu#_asahi azumane#_lee's profiles
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You rolled 24! That's one sleepy kissy coming up :3
It was rare these days that the Iudex had the privilege of returning to the comfort of your shared home before the sun disappeared. Today had been excruciatingly close to being such an occassion, and oh how he'd longed for it. All afternoon was spent busily prioritising and wrapping up loose ends. He could afford to push some matters to tomorrow, especially if he had already planned how to resolve it.
The premise had been false from the very beginning, for nothing in this world was truly 'fair', and thus he found himself here. On the path through your exquisite garden, the silence deafening as most insects usually buzzing by had long since returned to their abodes.
The sun was far gone beyond the horizon, not that it mattered much with the current sky, obscured by clouds as it was. Perhaps that was his truest nature, a great beast who would swallow the stars, weeping all the while.
His gloved hand hovered on the doorhandle, his body but a stone sinking towards the bottom, heavy and unperturbed by the current. At least here, he was offered the freedom of expression, your gaze ever loving and patient no matter his occasional blunder, confusion, or late night at the Palais...
You stirred under the sheets when he pushed open the door to your shared bedroom. Seeing you curled around his nightshirt were treacherous waters, making him warm with love at the thought that you'd seek the comfort of his scent, clutching a ghost of his presence. Then came the overwhelming guilt and the questions; there was no possession of his he would not trade to always be there when you reached for him.
"Neuvillette? Are you done standing there?"
Your small voice brought him back, a small sigh leaving his lips as his shoulders slumped.
"One moment, mon coeur, I am not quite ready to join you," it tugged at his heart when you sat up and blearily opened your eyes, shirt still clutched tightly to your chest.
"Please, do not wait up on my account, I have yet to prepare for the night," Neuvillette took great care to keep his voice soft, not wanting to dispell your relaxed state.
Your hand beckoning him closer was like an invisible string being pulled, your request the highest law in this home. With a warmth in his chest reserved for you alone, he sat on the edge of the bed, knowing already what you wished for.
His lips met yours in a gentle caress, relishing in the softness of your skin. His careful fingers went to support the back of your head, wanting nothing more than feel you relax in his hold. Your taste was divine, his mind fogging the longer the kiss lasted.
The hand now tugging lightly at his hair made him groan, your clever tongue entering his mouth only serving to heighten the bliss. With a reluctant sigh he pulled away from your flushed visage, his hand moving to cup your cheek in reverence.
"Let me rinse off today's troubles first, then I shall indulge you all you want"
His free hand tried to snatch the nightshirt from your arms, only to be met with thin air as you dodged with a sleepy smile.
"Mm.. I'm keeping this until then.."
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WHO... IS BUYING NEW CLOTHES.... MORE THAN ONCE A YEAR....... WHO ??????
#like. this is entirly a conceot introduced to me by my roommate. my mother got maybe a single new dress or top a month#fashion and thus fast fashion makes no sense to me. i am going to buy a piece of clothing and then i am going to wear it until it is#physically indecent for me to wear in public and then i am going to mend the crotch (generally) and keep wearing it casually or as pajamas.#people who can afford to and do buy clothes more often than once or twice a year arem bizarre to me.#why. why do you need to do that. if you have clothes that fit and cover your body in a way that you are comfortable with. why...#okay okay actually i buy socks maybe 5 times a year because i LOSE THEM SO FAST ITS INSANE I FEEL DERANGED#any way. im watching a video abt fast fashion#any apparently people legitimately buy a dress to wear like. once.#insane to me.#and the only reason i buy clothes new is because shopping overwhlems me to such a degree if i try one more than like 2 pairs of clothes#i will have to leave the store with nothing. it is TOO MUCH sensory input.#so trying to buy second hand clothing is. as one may imagine as a fat man with one belt. pretty difficult.#its just so BIZARRE TO ME........... WHY. IM SO CONFUSED AND BAFFLED. LIKE. THERE IS NO NEED............#the most i think about buying new clothes is i want to get some modest linen summer wear. GOOD LUCK W THAT THO.#me: okay maybe I'll just figurenout how to make it okay show me linen#fabric store: 3 different cotton blends marked as linen#me: LINEN.#online only store: actual linen that to buy the amount i would need to make a full outfit and dressing gown for mysekf would run like 90$#me: .....NVM I DONT NEED CLOTHES NUDITY IS STILL IN.
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your boyfriend sleeps on the couch after an argument you both had earlier that day. after calming your nerves and taking time for yourself, you realise that you might have been a bit too harsh on him.
☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff / angst / hurt + comfort. age gap (reader early 20’s & satoru early 30’s). nicknames used; ‘(little) baby’. he’s honestly just the perfect combination of gentle and teasing. subtle mentions of size difference.
satoru shifts on the couch whilst letting out an inaudible yawn. he was tired after an entire day at work and finally had the chance to settle down in the comfort of his apartment.
though, he couldn’t really relax just yet. the reason why being the undeniable tension hanging in the air. he was in fact home, but it didn’t feel like it. not when you were missing.
you had holed yourself up in the master bedroom after an earlier argument the two of you had. it wasn’t a big fight — just a little squabble between lovers. satoru didn’t rush after you when you had decided to walk away midst argument. you clearly weren’t in the right headspace to properly articulate nor communicate your feelings.
he figured that you just needed some time alone and thus decided to leave you be. he didn’t want to risk losing you by annoying you any further.
satoru scrolls on his phone out of boredom. the light radiating off the screen starts to bother his already sensitive eyes. with a sigh, he shuts off the device and puts it down on the coffee table.
it was dead silent in the apartment that was usually filled with your lively chatter. the sorcerer wants nothing more than to cuddle up with you under the covers and fall asleep. but, you needed space and he wasn’t going to disturb you.
he drapes an arm over his eyes and pulls the thin blanket over his chest. his breaths were steady and his thoughts were surprisingly calm. satoru almost drifts off to sleep, however his body lightly jolts awake once he hears the creaking of a door.
careful footsteps echo throughout the hallway and stop right at the doorstep of the living room.
satoru moves his arm to the side so his vision wouldn’t be obstructed. his eyes land on the figure standing at the doorframe — one he could recognise instantly.
it was you, standing there with your head held low and your fingers curled around the hem of your nightgown. you didn’t take another step forwards and just lingered in your spot for a few seconds without saying anything.
“hey, baby.” satoru breaks the silence. his voice was as soft as it could be, not an ounce of annoyance or frustration in it. even if he had all the reason to be upset according to you.
you remember just how childish you acted earlier; you had lost all rationality, shouted at your boyfriend out of frustration and ran off mid sentence instead of properly addressing the issue at hand. the way you handled that situation was wrong and immature.
in contrast to your immature behaviour, satoru had stayed calm and collected throughout the entirety of your argument. he hadn’t raised his voice at you even once nor did he blame you for anything. you felt bad for acting like a bratty kid who didn’t get her way.
you eventually move towards the couch, still not making eye contact with your boyfriend. he sits up and simply watches you with a raised eyebrow—curious as to what you were about to do.
you knew you had to apologise for your behaviour, but what you needed first was his validation. you wordlessly climb onto the couch and under the blanket satoru was using.
your arms wrap around his torso and you hug him tightly to your body, face buried in his shirt to cover your embarrassed and remorseful expression.
satoru’s eyes widen a bit at the sudden show of affection, though he wasn’t complaining. he reciprocates the gesture and nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head.
“my little baby.” he chuckles, hands rubbing your back in attempt to reassure you that everything was and will be fine, “i’m happy you decided to come back to me — thank you.”
again. that tender tone satoru uses only with you and for you. the guilt from earlier hits you like a truck and your eyes well up with tears before you could stop the process.
“sorry,” your voice cracks once you finally muster out an apology. the warmth engulfing your cold body was enough to make you sob in his comforting embrace. satoru sighs and closes his eyes. he rests his chin on top of your head whilst holding you like his life depended on it.
no words were exchanged between you two for a good minute. satoru silently encourages you to cry it out and so you do. after calming down, you sniffle and pull your head away from his chest. your eyes were watery and a bit red.
the pad of his thumb sweeps the stray tears away from your cheeks, his touch precise and careful. he smiles softly at the sight of his teary-eyed girlfriend. you were so adorable and precious to him. even when you looked like a mess — a pretty mess.
“i just..” you start off, small hiccups interrupting your sentence, “i wanted to apologise for acting so childish. i shouldn’t have said nor did any of those hurtful things. i apologise for that as well.”
your lover nods along to your words. he hums in delight and kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for longer than intended, “don’t worry, baby. i understand. thank you for apologising, though.”
you mutter a small ‘of course’ in-between sniffles. that was all the reassurance you had needed to hear from your boyfriend. though, you still felt bad and the guilt of your immature actions seemed to linger in the back of your mind.
you lay your head back on satoru’s chest and listen to his heartbeat — hoping that the constant sound would drown out any other thoughts. your lover lays on his back and pulls you down on top of him. his hands rub your sides, slender fingers toying with the silky material of your nightgown.
“i’m sorry for being immature sometimes. i’m sure it must be troubling to deal with.” you whisper as you enjoy the feeling of being back in satoru’s arms.
he grins and shakes his head in response. he loves every side of yours — even your immature one. if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here right now. he truly loves all of you.
the older man places another soft kiss on top of your head and closes his eyes afterwards, “heh, i’d be lying if i said that you trying to act all tough earlier wasn’t cute.”
satoru snickers at the memory. he remembers how you pointed that little finger of yours in front of his face and how you tried to subtly stand on the tips of your toes so you could look him in the eyes properly. your attempts at looking intimidating were quite endearing.
it’s not like he was invalidating your feelings with that comment — he was genuinely trying to lighten your mood. and it wasn’t like it didn’t work.
“whatever.” you huff, playfully swatting his biceps and gaining an over exaggerated ‘ow!’ in response. you’re glad that things have gone back to normal between you two. if the situation had continued for any longer, you’d have lost your mind.
you aren’t the only one who is extremely relieved. satoru is beaming with joy because he gets to hold and talk to you again. that small period of silence between the both of you felt like an eternity to him.
no matter how many times you have those little arguments, satoru will still love you all the same.
#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#gojo x you#jjk x y/n#gojo x y/n#jjk fanfic#jjk fic#jjk angst
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ᴄᴜᴅᴅʟᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛꜱ! ☆ ʜᴏʏᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ ᴍᴇɴ¡
ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ.
ꜰᴛ: Xiao, Wriothesley, Lyney, Dan Heng, Argenti, Blade.
ꜱʏɴᴘᴏꜱɪꜱ: Headcanons about their cuddles with you!
ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I considered adding Alhaitham into the mix, but I figured that I didn't know his character well enough for his part to be accurate and good. Apologies to all of the Alhaitham fans! Also, new format for my fanfiction posts, inspired by many creators! (Namely iheartganyu)
ᴘꜱ: pretty little spoiler warning if you haven't caught up with anything in either game 😭😭
✰ xiao ✰
— An adeptus of Liyue, the Vigilant Yaksha. It's easy to guess that cuddles with him are rare. Mostly due to his job, but he's too... awkward. Xiao has been touch-starved for the great majority of his life, so it's easy to assume that he's inexperienced, much to his dismay.
Don't get me wrong. He'd love to cuddle more often, but— while inexperience is one part of it, Xiao is ultimately insecure. He strongly believes that he's tainted. He believes that he's a disgusting, vile creature that lives only to slaughter, but he thinks of you as an angel. Xiao thinks that too many cuddles would taint you, alongside the fact that he worries about his Karmic Debt situation.
Nevertheless, when you do convince him to cuddle with you, he'll be awkward at first; hesitant to put his arm here, overthinking how he put his hand there, etc., etc. He doesn't emit much body warmth, but he finds you to be really cozy and warm to the touch, thus finding comfort in the closeness once he moves past the insecurities and hesitation. By the way, unless you like to initiate and contribute to conversations, most of the cuddles will be in comfortable silence, excluding the occasional comment about the scenery or compliments about each other.
Xiao would cuddle on the condition that it's in a secluded area and nobody else is present except for you and him. He'd prefer to book a bedroom at Wangshu Inn, but if not, then he'd prefer to cuddle on the rooftop of the inn, late at night when the stars shine from the heaven-blessed galaxies, the subtle natural light kissing your features to give him a little bit of an extra view. He doesn't think too much about how he looks to you, but he could only hope that he's at least bearable to look at. (Which he very much is.)
☆ wriothesley ☆
— He's so touchy and extra cuddly that sometimes that extra cuddly can be too extra, resulting in a near impossible mission to get out of bed in time for you to even get ready. Wriothesley loves holding you close to him. You're his love, and so he wants to treat you like it, but sometimes cuddles can transform into something a little bit more than just a cozy night, wrapping one's arms around the other.
Speaking of, good luck to you if you prefer being the big spoon, because you can't be the big spoon anymore. Wriothesley will always be the one to hold you, always the one to just wrap his arms around you and cherish you like never before. As previously mentioned, you're his lover, and he wants to treat you like it! Wriothesley wants to make you feel special, like you're the most important person in his life, so he'll do his best to give you that.
Also, I feel as though he'd whisper to you a lot. Even if there's no need to be quiet, he finds it intimate to just lean in and whisper compliments in your ear while holding you close. It doesn't matter what situation you're in; it doesn't matter where you guys are, even if you're talking about your day or the constellations in the skies above, he'll interrupt you, lean in close and just say something about your eyes, maybe your clothes, but preferably your lips.
Wriothesley would also love kissing you at random whenever you cuddle. Not to say he doesn't already do that outside of cuddles, but it's just, to him, you look amazing. You look cute, and why wouldn't he kiss you when you're his gracious lover? He hopes that he doesn't go overboard and accidentally make you uncomfortable, but at the same time, he knows you enjoy it— that smile on your face every time he pecks a kiss on your nose or cheek tells him everything he needs to know.
Before I forget, he doesn't prefer cuddles during any time of the day, but given his job, it's mainly during his afternoon tea breaks, and 100% at night in bed with you. To be honest, if he could, he'd take a full day off just to hold you tight and spend the day with you, wrapped like burritos in a blanket and sipping the day away with refreshments and love.
Some day, he might as well do just that.
☆ lyney ☆
— If it weren't for his job as a magician and as part of the fatui, he wouldn't let go of you. When Lyney can, he clings to you like a lost child who had finally found their parent in a big city. He holds your waist with one hand and performs little magic tricks with the other to impress you. Lyney's a very clingy, touchy lover.
When cuddling, he loves getting super close to the point where there's almost no space between the two of you. But on the occasion, he'll snuggle so close that it's basically just a tight hug—the only difference is that you're both lying down. The only times he isn't super, mega close to you, is when he's making rainbow roses appear randomly around your body. Most of the time, it's all fun and innocent, but other times, Lyney enjoys the look on your face when he does something quite bold.
Also, Lyney's very talkative while cuddling. Even in moments of relaxation, he'll take the time to just stare at you, even if he can't get the full view because of the ungodly lack of space, Lyney will look at you and start complimenting you. He loves you so much, and that's another huge way to show it. He's a romantic kind of guy. If there's a way to show his affection, he will take and use that way to show his affection. He loves your smile; he loves it when you blush, and it slowly grows more evident by the second because he starts to blush, too. Also, Lyney would immediately just hold you more at the sight of your reaction.
Nevertheless, his need to be close can change. Whenever he's out on a mission given by Arlecchino— more specifically, an assassination mission— you won't see him for a good three days. Even when the mission's complete, he'd want to seek out your love, comfort, and affection, but he stops himself. Lyney believes that his hands are still painted with the blood of the murdered, no matter how many times he washes or scrubs them, he'll still see the visible darkening red blood stains. There's no way he's even going near you with those kinds of sins straight on his body. It's sad, and you might have to seek him out yourself if he doesn't show up for the next few days. When you do find him, the moment he sees you is when that wall of guilt shatters, and he nearly breaks down seeing you again. Seeing you every day made him used to you, and just a few days of deprivation made him feel miserable. The simple, mere sight of you had him almost sobbing, running back to you and holding you tight, finally reunited with the one he loves most.
Were he not guilty of association with the fatui, he wouldn't have ever needed or wanted to let go.
☆ dan heng☆
— Blushing little mess. He's never a fan of PDA, so even when he does want to hold you outside of his or your room, he doesn't. Hence why the moment you both enter the private space of a hotel room or a bedroom, Dan Heng takes your hand and leads you to the bed for cuddles. He loves them, really, but he's a flustered mess of a lover because of how embarrassed he felt about being so clingy.
He's a big spoon, too, so he holds you close to him while cuddling. He likes the closeness, but he hates how visibly red his face gets, so he buries his face into your shoulder to hide. Sometimes, he just lays there listening to you or simply calming down in silence, but he does like hearing your voice before bed. It helps him sleep, and it somehow prevents nightmares of Blade. Quick note, your comfort and warmth make him feel safe through the night, and you accompany him when he'd usually be alone, either on his phone or reading a book.
PS: Dan Heng prefers to sleep in your room and/or in a hotel room because your bed and the hotel's provided beds are much more comfortable than a sleeping bag. He loves wrapping a blanket around the two of you and holding you like that. He says it's so you both get an even amount of warmth, and neither of you takes more of the blanket than the other, but he really does it because he feels a bit closer to you.
In his Imbibitor Lunae form, sleeping with him gets a bit harder, simply because he finds it harder to control himself. But when he can control himself, he'll let you run your fingers through his long hair, maybe even letting you touch his horns. Still, he doesn't allow the latter too often for reasons left unsaid. Anyway, he dislikes using this form because of how it reminds him of his former's past. He feels as though he's trapped in the memories and sin that are not his own. Yet, you make him feel comfortable in his own skin. He feels free with you; he feels alive, and he loves you for your ability to make him feel that way. Dan Heng will do everything in his ability to make you feel the same way.
And he likely already has.
☆ argenti ☆
— The most proper and romantic. Compliments littered across your entire figure, his hand in yours kissing your knuckles constantly with the addition of the most rosey and romantic sweet nothings. Argenti is old-fashioned and the most romantic, as he believes that this is the only way to live for his adored Aeon. The most comment compliment you'd hear between kisses is, “you're the most exquisite person in my world,” and Argenti would always wink with his compliments. Sometimes, it's wonderful to be the subject of his rose-colored words, but other times, it gets old; you become slightly lovesick.
The solution to that is conversation while holding each other in bed, or perhaps it's simply ushering Argenti to cuddle with you beneath the stars at night. It's beautiful to see the galaxy in its brightest moments, hovering from the dark skies. Argenti would silently pray to his Aeon, thanking her profusely for letting him see this wonderful view in person.
Still. You are his lover, and sometimes the weight of fear and trauma gets to him. Argenti often looks to you to confide in, and usually, nights like these are rarely cuddle nights, but sometimes, when it gets bad, you'll hold him in the night while he talks about his past— the wars, the music, the old friends, the worries— and how terrifying it can be if he would succumb to the same fate as his once so honorable friend. In exchange for your comfort, he holds you close and vows to protect you in your dreams and from the moment you wake to the moment you sleep again.
Argenti prefers to cuddle in bed, during a picnic, or beneath the stars. He seldom makes exceptions for heavy PDA, but when it comes to cuddling in public, even if there are people around during the day or at night, if it's stargazing or a picnic, he doesn't care as much. He'll smile, his eyes set only on you, not the eyes that may linger on your cuddles.
He doesn't care enough to look at anyone else, not when the embodiment of beauty lays right by him.
☆ blade ☆
— He's cautious. Blade's name takes after his weapon, and though he himself is not a sword, he still worries that he'll hurt you through cuddles. Blade is marastruck, and if it starts to get to him, he's terrified that it'll strike you, too. He admires death and the concept of it, but for you to die and for him to live with that? Impossible.
Anyway, convincing him is still 100% doable. When you do cuddle with him, he holds you with hesitation and care. He doesn't show it, as he masks his emotions with lips pursed to a line, but he feels relief. He feels happy, even, but he can't really tell. The Mara has calmed, and he can catch a break from the trauma. Something worth noting: Blade's trauma might cause him to cling to you, holding you close for comfort and reassurance— but that's only when he finds himself to be desperate for your love and affection. It's the one thing that keeps him together; your smile alone can mend all of his wounds, physical or not.
That can happen at any time of the day, but he'll typically seek you out at night. Blade will— without a spoken word— hug you from behind with a sigh of relief, and he'll take you to the nearest spot with the most privacy, and he'll hold you tight once more without a sign of letting you go. He loves you, and without even saying that he does, you already have all the evidence you need to conclude that he does. Holding you feels like heaven, in Blade's eyes. Once he gets past his fears of hurting you, he'll wrap his arms around your waist, but if he cuddles with you from behind, he'll wrap his arms beneath your chest, all with a sigh of relief and the tiniest hint of a smile.
The two of you cuddling is cute, so cute that Silver Wolf just had to stream it and broadcast one of your cuddle sessions to all of the other Stellaron Hunters.
Of course, you and Blade will never cuddle near any of the Stellaron Hunters ever again after that.
#character x reader#genshin x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#xiao x reader#wriothesley x reader#lyney x reader#dan heng x reader#imbibitor lunae x reader#argenti x reader#blade x reader#genshin fic#hsr fic#honkai star rail fic#character x y/n#character x you#hcs#headcanons
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A Single Daffodil || 3
Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?
Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader
Rating: 18+ minors DNI
Word Count: 11.9K
Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi
Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut, body image issues
Author's Note: is this being posted over a week late? yes but I'm in the middle of exams at the moment eek! on the bright side, I'll be able to work on this more often after this week since most of my exams will be done! and then I have about a month until my job starts so I'm planning to grind!! all that aside, we get to see them get married here, so exciting!! yoongi seems to be having second thoughts hmmm interesting. let me know what you guys think! i love to hear your feedback <33
Taglist:
@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandylovejk @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @honeyypages @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @yoongibaybee
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You nervously smoothed out the skirt of your dress in an effort to calm your nerves but found little success. The day of the rehearsal had come and in less than twenty-four hours, you were to be married. Your hands shook as you grasped the door handle of the entrance to the banquet hall. Hoseok laid a comforting hand on your shoulder before shooting you a reassuring smile. He had decided to attend the rehearsal at your insistence, citing seeing Joohee again as the reason, though you knew he could tell how worried you were.
Mustering a small smile in response, you pushed open the door to see the ceremony space set up with nauseatingly bright flowers and ornate, crystal-laden light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The chairs were decorated in satin sashes with gold embroidery and the altar was woven around with glittering flowers. Your mother was standing at the edge of the aisle, speaking to the catering service employee. She was dressed impeccably as always, her commanding presence demanding that you look at and respect her. Your father was sitting in one of the satin chairs, scrolling dully on his phone. Your mother noticed you standing by the door and quickly beckoned you over.
As you approached, Hoseok following close behind, you noticed something at the end of the room. Standing at the end of the aisle was Yoongi, clad in the normal black suit you’d seen him in thus far, with his tie loosened and hair ruffled. He was speaking to his mother, who was adjusting his blazer, and his father, who stood off to the side, distantly nodding along. He had yet to notice your arrival, but you were fully enraptured by him. This was what you had been dreaming of since you’d met Yoongi outside that party so long ago, walking down the aisle to see him at the other end, promising your lives to each other in an act of fierce and nurtured love. But that wasn’t what was happening. Hoseok’s grip on your shoulder grounded you as you approached your mother. You could feel his arm laying across your shoulder blades and hanging loosely, but comfortingly, in an effort to brace you for your mother.
“Nice to see you finally made it. You must’ve been in a rush if you only had time to choose that outfit,” your mother stated, not bothering to properly greet you or acknowledge Hoseok. She knew who he was and she didn’t approve of your close relationship with him, but she knew that she couldn’t say anything out loud lest her image be tainted, which is what you were banking on.
Feeling Hoseok’s grip tighten at your mother’s careless words, you tried to subtly placate him, “Hello, mother. I’m sorry I’m late. Will we be starting soon?” Your mother only nodded curtly before turning away to speak to more of the venue employees. You let out a heavy breath before sitting down at one of the nearby chairs, not making an effort to try and greet your father. It’s not like he’d acknowledge you anyway.
“God damn, you need therapy,” Hoseok whistled lowly.
You let out a tired laugh, pulling him down to sit next to you, “Yeah, but we knew that already. Are you sure you’re up to face these guys? It can be a lot.”
Hoseok nodded, smiling kindly at you, before squeezing the hand you pulled him down with, “Of course, I am. I said I was here for you and I meant it.”
You grinned, having missed his fervent support and soothing touch, “Thanks, Hobi. You’re the best.” Hoseok only gave you another squeeze in response.
“Wow, I’m offended,” came a voice from behind you, “I thought I was the best.”
You and Hoseok turned to find Joohee in a simple dress, hands resting on her hips. Smiling up at her, you nodded, “You know you’re in a league of your own. Hobi can’t even compare.”
Hoseok scoffed incredulously, “You’re so fickle, how could you call yourself my friend.”
Sticking your tongue out at him, you leaned back in your chair with Joohee joining, sitting on your other side. Your eyes drifted back to Yoongi, and you startled, finding him looking right back at you. He casually shifted his gaze back to his mother, who was still speaking to him, not sparing you another glance.
“So, that’s him?”
You turned towards Hoseok, whose gaze was pointed at Yoongi’s form. You nodded, “Yeah, that’s him. My…fiance.”
Hoseok studied your sullen form for a moment before grabbing your shoulders and giving you a friendly squeeze, “At least he’s hot!”
Joohee and you laughed at his antics before hearing the large, wooden doors to the entrance open once more. A group of handsome men entered, about four, only one of whom you recognized as Joohee’s older brother. The group approached, laughing together while walking towards Yoongi. Joohee stood, shouting Seokjin’s name, calling him over to your small group. Kim Seokjin smiled at the sight of his sister before breaking off from the group, one of the men following after, while the others continued to Yoongi.
“Hey, Joo, how’s it going,” Seokjin smiled easily, ruffling his sister’s hair. She swatted at him before answering, “Good, but mom’s been on my case lately to come home.”
You looked on in envy, wishing you had a similar, friendly relationship with your own brother. Kyungsoo was nice enough to you, when he cared to acknowledge you. He had been primed by your parents to take over their company since he was young, but they’d made sure that the two of you had stayed competitive academically. Even though you were younger, you tended to do better in your studies, something your parents never let Kyungsoo forget. As a result, he’d grown extremely distant with you and you rarely spoke now. Actually, you weren’t even sure if he was coming to the wedding.
“There’s the bride-to-be! How are you feeling,” Seokjin’s voice boomed, snapping you out of your daze.
You smiled politely at him, “Hi, Jin oppa, it’s nice to see you. I’m feeling alright, as well as I can.”
Seokjin nodded sympathetically, “I know Yoongi hasn’t been the best, but give him some time to adjust. If he’s still an ass after that, let me know and I’ll beat him up.”
You laughed as he puffed out his chest and raised an arm to display his muscles. Joohee rolled her eyes before punching him lightly in his side, “Oppa, no one wants to see that. Here, let me introduce you to Hobi.”
Hoseok stood to greet the older man, no longer obstructing your view of the other man who had followed Seokjin out of the group earlier. He was quite tall, though not as tall as Seokjin, and well built, with tattoos flowing down his hands, curling around the small wrinkles of his fingers. His shaggy black hair framed a boyish face that wore a polite smile. Why did he seem so familiar?
“Jeon Jeongguk,” you blurted out, almost stumbling to stand and confirm your suspicions. He turned to face you, with you now realizing that it was, in fact, the same streamer you’d been following for the past few years. You hadn’t recognized him immediately without his usual garb of sweatshirts, headphones, and piercings littering his face.
“Hi, you’re Seo Y/N, I assume,” he smiled, eyes crinkling. Feeling slightly starstruck, you nodded dumbly.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, Kook, she’s a big fan of yours. She watches your streams all the time,” Joohee interjected. Your gaze shot towards her, sending her a silent message.
You know him? And you didn’t tell me?
Joohee only shrugged sheepishly, Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind.
You gritted your teeth, I’m so interrogating you later.
Jeongguk’s voice called you back to him, “Really? That’s cool, I always love meeting fans.”
Feeling your cheeks redden, you stumbled slightly over your words, “Yeah! I love all your videos, you got me into a couple of new games I didn’t think I’d ever enjoy,” you finished, laughing awkwardly.
Jeongguk took it in stride, bashfully scratching the back of his head, “Thanks, I appreciate that. So you’re into a lot of games, yourself?”
Seeing an opportunity, you relaxed, feeling yourself brighten at the chance to talk about your favorite subject, “Yeah! I actually work for O.K. Gaming in their planning team. I’m not really into MMOs, but I like a lot of RPGs and platformers, my favorite right now is actually this indie one from the U.S. that’s been out for a couple of years, Celeste, it got put on the switch but I played it on my PC. But I’ve been branching out, thanks to you! Watching you play all the old Zelda games made me want to get into it too, but I ended up starting with Breath of the Wild because it looked so pretty, the graphics are just amazing! So are the mechanics, I was really impressed with how-”
“Woah, there,” you heard Hoseok, laying a hand on the small of your back, “You’re gonna scare him away.”
You laughed awkwardly, noticing the shocked expression that painted Jeongguk’s face, “Sorry, I tend to get over-excited when it comes to that stuff.”
Jeongguk seemed to snap back into the conversation, shaking his head wildly with a large grin, “No, that’s great! It’s been a while since I’ve been able to geek out with someone. We should totally hang out, what’s your number?”
You felt yourself slip back into a comfortable smile before taking Jeongguk’s phone to put your number in while he excitedly mentioned the games he was thinking of streaming next. Handing his phone back, he glanced at it before looking back up at you, “Hey, is it okay for me to call you noona? I do the same with Joohee noona.”
Slightly surprised at his forwardness, you nodded, “Yeah, that’d be nice. I don’t think I’ll call you Kook though.”
He laughed brightly, “We’ll work our way up to that.”
One of the other groomsmen called both Seokjin and Jeongguk back to the altar, leaving you to bask in the feeling of having met one of your favorite content creators and becoming friends with him, ignoring Hoseok’s quiet teasing at your geeking out. The bliss didn’t last long though as you heard your mother clap her hands and ask everyone to sit near the front. Hoseok’s hand slipped into your own, giving it a gentle squeeze, along with an encouraging smile, before letting you and Joohee join the others at the front. You’d wished that you could put Hoseok in your wedding party, but you knew your mother would never allow it. You were grateful already that he’d come to the rehearsal despite not being able to do anything the entire time.
You and Joohee took your seats at the front, sitting next to some other young women you recognized from your mother’s galas, likely the rest of your bridesmaids. Your mother had been kind enough to let you choose Joohee as your maid of honor, but you knew she’d only allowed it because Joohee’s family was high up enough according to her standards.
Your mother positioned herself at the altar, addressing everyone with a confident tone, “Now that everyone’s present, I’ll let Mrs. Shin go through the itinerary for today.” Your mother then stepped aside, joining your father on your family’s side of the aisle.
A small, stout woman with her hair in a tight bun and a string of pearls adorning her neck took the stand, “Hello, I’m Shin Miyeon, the wedding planner for this event. For today, we’ll start with a rehearsal of the entrances and ceremony, which will be followed by the entrances for the reception and a run-through of the timings for the dances tomorrow. We’ll end with a joint dinner, and then we’ll be done. Let’s get started.”
Mrs. Shin immediately started directing people, the bridal party being the first, and pairing them up by height to walk together. Joohee was quickly whisked away, leaving you shaking nervously, as this was all beginning to feel a bit too real. The thought was suddenly occurring to you that you really were going to be marrying Yoongi and he absolutely did not want it to happen. Sinking further into your seat, you sent an encouraging, but wavering, smile to Joohee who was paired with her brother due to their similar heights. Your eyes drifted towards Yoongi, who was sitting calmly on the other side of the aisle, swiping through his phone with an unimpressed expression. How could he be so nonchalant about all this?
“Mr. Min, Ms. Seo, please join me at the entrance,” Mrs. Shin’s voice called out, making you raise your head in her direction. You felt your heart rate speed up and your hands clench, you weren’t ready for this. Your vision almost seemed to cloud as it felt like a hand was closing in around your throat, and your breath started to stutter. You absolutely were not ready for this. Your life was about to change, arguably for the worse, and you had to spend it with someone who wouldn’t even acknowledge you. You could distantly hear Mrs. Shin calling your name once more but it felt like you couldn’t move, your body didn’t feel like your own. Gaze lowering to the ground, it seemed like spots were taking over your vision. Your breath continued to quicken and you could feel yourself beginning to fully lose control of your breathing.
This can’t be happening.
You needed to get ahold of yourself, there were people all around you, not to mention your mother and Yoongi. But no matter how hard you tried to ground yourself, the control you had over your body kept slipping away, and it only caused you to freak out further. A pair of smart, black dress shoes came into your view and you lifted your head to see Yoongi looking down at you with a raised eyebrow through your blurry vision.
“Are you coming?”
You forced yourself to hold your breath, letting it out slowly after counting for a few seconds, before nodding and standing on wobbly legs. You didn’t have time to break down, you had a job to do.
Following Yoongi and Mrs. Shin to the entrance doors, you pointedly avoided eye contact with your mother while sending shaky smiles to Joohee and Hoseok. You had to get a grip.
“Alright, let’s go through the order we’ll be going down the aisle. Can the rest of the wedding party please come down here?”
You were squished up against the door with Yoongi at your side as the wedding party took their places to arrive at the altar before you. Setting your eyes straightforward, you resisted any temptation to glance at Yoongi to see his expression. You couldn’t face him after he’d witnessed you almost experience a full-on panic attack. Focusing in on Mrs. Shin’s firm tone was an easy distraction, as you watched her guide your wedding party down the aisle and to the altar. Slowly but surely, she made her way to you and your groom, with Yoongi being directed first.
“You’ll walk before Ms. Seo and take your place next to Mr. Kim at the stand,” Mrs. Shin said, guiding Yoongi toward the other end of the room. You watched as he gracefully strode down the aisle, casually stopping next to Seokjin and turning to face your direction. The action made you pause, almost breathlessly, as your gaze connected. However, his eyes didn’t last long on your form, as they slid over to Seokjin and Yoongi began conversing with him.
You couldn’t help the disappointed feeling in your chest, despite knowing full well you had no right to suffer it. Yoongi wasn’t yours, he would never be, something he had made quite clear in your limited interactions. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a tugging in your stomach, a pain in your forefinger, at his blatant dismissal of you. Biting your lip, you cursed inwardly, now was not the time to fall even deeper for your husband-to-be.
“Ms. Seo, please follow me. You can hold this in place of your bouquet,” Mrs. Shin said, handing you a nondescript water bottle. A quick glance at Hoseok’s form turned to face you had you confirming that he was making fun of you as you had suspected. You brushed off his giggles and stepped in what you hoped was an elegant manner after Mrs. Shin, following her down the aisle.
You deliberately avoided looking at Yoongi’s face, knowing that he wouldn’t be watching you. Did you want him to?
Yes.
You almost scoffed. What a ridiculous notion. What you were in need of was a good, old reality check, not playing into the fantasy of marrying Yoongi for love. As you passed Hoseok, he whistled wolfishly, earning a disapproving frown from your mother. It was exactly what you needed though, pulling a laugh out of you before discreetly flipping him off from behind the water bottle. You felt the tension leave your body at Hoseok’s familiar antics, finally feeling relaxed for the first time that night. Maybe you could do this, after all.
Reaching the altar, Mrs. Shin proceeded to give minor notes to the rest of your wedding party as you stood awkwardly next to Yoongi. You could hear his soft breaths as he waited patiently for Mrs. Shin to address you both, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at or try to start a conversation with him. Yoongi seemed to be doing the same, keeping his eyes forward and occasionally glancing at his watch.
You felt lonely. You were standing next to the person who was going to be your partner for the rest of your life and yet, you felt a deep and painful distance from him. You could feel his warmth, hear him shuffling beside you, but you deliberately shied away from brushing elbows to solidify the separation between you. Yoongi seemed so calm and indifferent, it made you feel a troubling combination of envy and anger.
Why couldn’t you be as blase as him about this? Why was he so apathetic in the first place? Didn’t he care about you at all? Was he judging you for not being aloof yourself? Why didn’t he want to engage with you at all?
It hurt, to say the least, but the rational part of you annoyingly came to his defense. Realistically, you knew he had no obligation to try and converse with, or even care about, you. So why were you still so hurt?
“Mr. Min, Ms. Seo, please join me at the doors. We’ll run through it again.”
Mrs. Shin’s voice put a halt to your spiraling thoughts, making you register Yoongi turning around beside you. Following suit, you joined behind him, taking a glance at your watch. Only about thirty or so minutes had passed.
You sighed, this was really going to be a test of your endurance.
The cushioned chair felt welcoming, even though your company did not evoke the same feeling. Your mother was sitting across from you and her cold stare made you shrivel into your seat. Hoseok was placed on the far end of the table with Joohee, making them achingly far from you. Yoongi was next to you in a performance pretending this was a willing marriage. Not that the restaurant staff would care.
You scowled internally, lamenting the fact that you couldn’t even eat dinner comfortably. Your mother was sending you cursory glances while talking to Yoongi’s mother, and your dad was talking business with Yoongi’s father, and with Yoongi conversing with Seokjin, you were painfully lonely. You resorted to quietly playing with the napkin in your lap and staring at your empty plate and wine glass in front of you, desperately wishing you could drink to make the dinner easier but you knew your mother wouldn’t approve.
“Y/N noona?”
You looked up, making eye contact with Jeongguk, who was sitting next to you, previously talking to another groomsman with stunning dimples next to him.
“Oh, yes,” you responded, straightening in your chair.
“I wanted to talk to you some more about the games you mentioned earlier since we didn’t get to finish,” he responded, a bright, bunny smile decorating his face.
You felt yourself smile warmly in response automatically, his joy and bubbliness seemed to be contagious, “Yeah, I’d love to. What would you like to know?”
The conversation with Jeongguk proved to be your oasis in the desert of the stale and stiff conversations happening around you, especially between your parents. His encouraging smile put you at ease and made the tension flow out from your fingers. You were grateful that he was so engaging, keeping you distracted from the shifting from the aloof and dominating presence you felt beside you.
Yoongi had remained relatively quiet throughout the whole evening, only having spoken to you when you were on the verge of breaking down. He spoke quietly to his friends, not bothering to introduce you to them, and had barely looked in your direction. Part of you couldn’t deny it upsetting you, but you constantly reminded yourself that this was to be expected.
The both of you had made no commitment to each other outside of appearing as a couple when it mattered, he had no obligation to be friendly towards you. It felt like your mind was going in circles continually trying to keep your emotions in check and avoid crossing the boundaries Yoongi had so clearly laid out.
The thought entered your mind once again, Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like?
It certainly felt that way.
You felt Yoongi shift beside you once again, making you flinch. Thankfully, Jeongguk didn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in describing his most recent gaming obsession with you. You felt hyper-aware of Yoongi’s presence, whether he was right beside you or at the other end of the room. It bothered you how much he affected you, but you almost enjoyed it at the same time.
There was something pleasant about the feeling of falling in love with someone, regardless of whether it was a tragic infatuation or not. The rush of your heartbeat whenever you caught a glimpse of him, the way your breath hitched when you accidentally brushed shoulders, the way your fingers itched to grasp his hand, it all felt so romantic in a way.
Where it all came crashing down was the reality that Yoongi didn’t feel a semblance of the same way. Your spiked heartbeat was met with his indifferent exterior, your hitched breath with his calm and even exhales, and your twitching fingers with his clenched fist. It was detrimental, damaging even, and it was taking a toll on, not only your emotional wellbeing but your self-confidence as well. You were so swiftly rejected by him that it was a blow to your self-esteem. You hadn’t felt particularly great about yourself prior to his crushing dismissal, but you had certainly been in a downward spiral since then.
Too often now you were scrutinizing your appearance in the mirror, choosing baggier clothing while hating the silhouette, and catching yourself while speaking. It wasn’t logical or warranted, but that didn’t stop your overactive mind from whispering your insecurities quietly every day. Maybe Hoseok had a point. You really needed to look into therapy.
“Noona?”
“Oh, sorry, I was just zoning out,” you blinked, tuning back into Jeongguk’s honey-sweet voice.
He smiled sympathetically, something you seemed to be on the receiving end of a lot lately, “That’s okay. Are you feeling alright?”
“I’m alright,” you nodded, not wanting to divulge the cacophony of thoughts swimming around in your head, “Please, continue with what you were saying.”
Jeongguk’s energizing smile made a reappearance, making you relax further into your chair. You let his dulcet voice lull you into a comfortable conversation for the rest of the dinner, trying not to react whenever you felt movement beside you.
“Thank you all for coming, we appreciate your being here. We’ll be meeting at the venue tomorrow at nine, so please be sure to be on time,” your mother concluded, your group standing outside the restaurant. With that, the crowd slowly dispersed, your parents speaking to Yoongi’s at their cars and the bridal parties filing out into respective vehicles as well. You leaned back into Hoseok’s firm torso, letting his arm encircle your waist and his chin rest on your shoulder.
You didn’t often let people touch you, but Hoseok was a rare exception, having broken your barriers down in college, and served as a comforting touch whenever you needed it. It evolved into more casual affection, a similar version being displayed between Hoseok and Joohee, and you accepted it as just part of his personality. You knew how it looked to people around you but you simply didn’t care, Hoseok was a good friend, and you’d be damned if you were going to refuse the little human contact you allowed.
Joohee was talking animatedly to Hoseok about something or other, you weren’t really paying attention. Hoseok’s warmth soothed you, making your eyelids fall in the exhaustion from the day’s events. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught your mother frowning at you, but you paid no mind. For the first time since the announcement, you wondered if she’d finally leave you to your own devices now that you were doing the ultimate show of subservience to her.
Kim Seokjin’s booming voice startled you from Hoseok’s grasp, making him switch to leaning against your car door. You spotted Seokjin’s tall figure making his way over to you, the other groomsmen following behind. Yoongi was also tailing Seokjin, making you stand up straighter and try to steel your expression.
“Joo, Y/N, we’re gonna go for some drinks to celebrate Yoongi’s bachelordom ending, want to join? You’re welcome too, of course, Hobi,” Seokjin smiled kindly. You almost flinched at the mention of Yoongi’s bachelor lifestyle ending, apparently, he hadn’t told his friends about the rules he’d set.
Joohee’s face hardened towards Yoongi, apparently realizing the same thing you did, before turning sickeningly sweet towards her brother, “No thanks, oppa. We’re gonna head back to Y/N’s.”
“Oh, c’mon, noona,” Jeongguk looked at you imploringly, eyes shining, “It’ll be fun! We can hang out more!”
You smiled apologetically as you felt Hoseok wrap a protective arm around you, noting that he was probably on the same page as Joohee, “Sorry Jeongguk, maybe next time.”
Jeongguk shrugged, turning to the other groomsmen, the dimpled man with tan skin and a model-esque-looking man with dark eyebrows and lighter hair. Seokjin furrowed his eyebrow slightly, mouth upturning into a small frown, “Well, okay, but I’ll be taking you out to celebrate at some point, Y/N. Mark the date!”
You laughed quietly, waving him off with an acquiescing nod. The men filed back towards their respective cars, heading to bars or someone’s house, you assumed. You began turning further into Hoseok to face your car before realizing that Yoongi was still standing there.
Pausing, you looked at him questioningly, feeling Hoseok’s grip tighten. Yoongi’s dark eyes narrowed at your intertwined forms.
“Do you need something, Yoongi-ssi,” Joohee asked in a clipped tone. You almost cringed at the blatant contempt.
“No,” Yoongi responded quietly, “I don’t. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He nodded politely in your direction before turning to walk back to his car, pausing for a last glance at your bemused face.
“What was that,” Joohee scoffed, flipping off Yoongi’s silhouette.
You shrugged, not knowing what to make of it either, “C’mon, let’s just go home. I need to get drunk.”
Joohee entered your car and you were just about to follow before Hoseok pulled you back, making you almost stop in your tracks.
“Y/N,” he sighed, looking into your eyes, “Are you really okay?”
You pulled your hand out of his, tired of being treated in such a fragile manner, “Yes, I’m fine. As good as I can be. I just want to go home.” You felt bad for snapping, but you were irritable after a long day and you wanted to get out of your dress and wipe off your makeup. You turned back towards the car before Hoseok spoke again.
“I know,” Hoseok said softly, “But there’s something off about him. I can’t place it. It was the way he looked at you, especially when I was hugging you.”
You twisted your head in his direction quickly, “Stop. Seriously, Hoseok, I really don’t need to be thinking about that. The last thing I need for this stupid infatuation is to think that there’s something there when there isn’t. I don’t need you putting those kinds of thoughts into my brain.”
Hoseok recoiled before scratching the back of his head and shooting you an apologetic glance, “You’re right, sorry. Let’s just go home, yeah?”
You both entered the car, Joohee leaning forward from the backseat to glance at the both of you.
“Is everything cool with you guys,” she questioned, likely having witnessed the scene outside the car.
“Yeah, just fine,” you said bluntly, gripping the steering wheel. What were you doing? Hoseok was just expressing concern. You didn’t have a right to get so worked up and take out your anger on him.
Sighing, you let yourself relax into your cushioned car seat, turning towards Hoseok who was in the passenger seat, “Sorry, Hobi. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s totally fine,” Hoseok smiled comfortingly, “Don’t even worry about it. I know how stressed you’ve been.”
“No,” you protested, “That isn’t an excuse. You were just looking out for me.”
Hoseok laughed jovially, “Hey, it’s fine, I promise. If anything, I’m glad to see you letting out some emotion, I was beginning to get worried that you didn’t get angry anymore.”
“Oh, she can get angry, alright,” Joohee mused from the backseat, “You’re just not around to see it anymore.”
You laughed, feeling relief at Hoseok’s easy acceptance of your apology. You started up your car, pulling out into the street.
“Let’s go get shitfaced in your living room,” Joohee cheered from behind you, Hoseok laughing along loudly.
A smile formed on your face, making you chuckle at Joohee’s exclamations. You were lucky, luckier than you thought initially. Even with everything going on, you felt your heart fill at your friends’ gracious and kind attitudes toward you. You continued driving to your apartment, feeling a touch more confident about your ability to get through tomorrow relatively unscathed.
Your dress felt constricting, but not in a way that a seamstress could fix. Despite your unfounded confidence the night before, standing behind the closed doors of the aisle sent a fresh wave of anxiety through your veins.
How were you going to get through this? Yoongi was waiting on the other side, at the end of the aisle, about to become your partner for life. Except, you weren’t going to be his partner in the same way.
Initially, Yoongi was supposed to walk down with you, your entourage partnered up like you’d practiced at the beginning of yesterday. But Mrs. Shin didn’t like the visual, making her change it to a more traditional style ceremony. Go figure that she wouldn’t think the sight of you and Yoongi walking together
A sick nausea curled in your stomach, making you clench the audacious bouquet, letting a few petals fall to the floor. You felt a hand clasp your shoulder, making you turn, seeing Joohee’s concerned frown.
“Hey, it’ll be okay, I’ll be right there. You can do this,” she squeezed your shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah, I can do this,” you repeated, attempting to calm your nerves. A small voice in the back of your mind whispered, wondering if Yoongi had the same nerves.
The thought almost made you scoff, there was no way. Nothing much in his life was changing other than getting a roommate he had to take to galas.
You knew that wasn’t a fair sentiment. Yoongi was as negatively affected by this arrangement as you were, he was just taking a more emotionally removed approach. Maybe you should learn from that.
Mrs. Shin appeared next to you in a flurry, “We’re about to open the doors. Are you ready?”
You nodded stiffly, knowing the answer was that you’d never be ready to marry Min Yoongi.
Hearing the muffled piano begin to play, signaling the start to your bridal party’s entrance, you released a heavy breath, trying to paint on a passive exterior. Joohee whispered some small last bits of encouragement your way before taking her place in front of you.
The doors slowly opened, letting your bridesmaids walk down before you. You could feel your hands trembling.
Hidden from the audience’s eyes beside the door, Mrs. Shin gestured at you, mouthing that you were up next.
Taking a moment to close your eyes, you steeled your nerves and took a step forward. You could do this. It was just a walk, that’s all it was.
You repeated the mantra in your head as you took more and more steps down the aisle, focusing your gaze on the ornate carvings above the altar. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your mother gesturing for you to smile, and you responded automatically, letting a small smile adorn your mouth. It felt hollow, but that wasn’t what mattered.
As you approached the altar, your gaze naturally shifted down to Yoongi, who was poised in a statuesque manner. He looked radiant, the black suit fitted perfectly to his chest and tapered at his waist. His charcoal hair was styled, showing his forehead, displaying his clear, smooth skin. His hands were clasped in front of him, your eyes tracing the outlines of his fingers, and his aura exuded confidence. You purposefully kept your gaze away from his face, not wanting to see the expression that he wore.
Reaching the steps up to the altar, you carefully climbed each one, making sure not to trip over the hem of your dress. You took your place next to Yoongi, feeling him turn to face the officiant. As the officiant began speaking, you felt yourself breathe out slowly, trying to recover from the initial stress. You had the first step done, the rest wouldn’t be so hard.
Thankfully, you could zone out for most of the ceremony, with the officiant droning on in your ear. Most of this was for show anyway, you didn’t really need to seem present. It was lucky that you were facing away from your audience, allowing your eyes to glaze over and subtly stifle yawns.
You barely processed Yoongi’s presence throughout the ceremony, trying not to glance in his direction. He hadn’t really acknowledged you, but it didn’t surprise you. In a way, it almost pained you that you were getting used to his apathy this quickly.
Another blessing came in the form that you didn’t have to recite vows. The attendees of the weddings had seen far too many arranged marriages to sit through another cycle of canned and rehearsed vows. It felt especially lucky to you as well in that you wouldn’t have to look into Yoongi’s eyes as you declared your devotion to him.
The ceremony itself quickly came to an end, and you were forced to turn to Yoongi, making eye contact accidentally for the first time that day. It sent a rush of heat to bloom in the apples of your cheeks and the pace of your heart quickened. It felt pathetic, really, to let him have that effect on you.
You extended your hand as Yoongi gently took it, sliding the cold metal of the ring onto your finger. Your hands felt numb from staying in place so long during the officiant’s speech, but Yoongi’s warm touch sparked new life in them, making them tremble in his grasp.
Letting out a shaky exhale, you took Yoongi’s hand in your own, noting the smooth planes of his palm and long digits. You internally cringed at your quivering fingers as you slid Yoongi’s own obsidian wedding band onto his finger. Letting go as soon as you were done, you let your hands fall back down to your sides. You pointedly avoided any eye contact with Yoongi, knowing what was next.
“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
It felt like the air was sucked from your lungs. You knew this was coming yet it still scared you. You weren’t so much afraid of the kiss, you’d kissed plenty of people, but you were afraid of what it would ignite in you.
Yoongi left you no room to hesitate as he grasped your cheeks and gently tugged you toward him, almost making you stumble. Your eyes widened as he leaned it, his own closed. Reflexively, you almost pulled away.
“Relax,” you heard him whisper, too quiet for even the officiant to hear, the warm breath from his words gently caressing your mouth. But you couldn’t stop shaking. You clenched your eyes shut as he leaned in closer before feeling the skin of his thumb covering your lips. His thumb pressed against your lip for just a second before he pulled back entirely, dropping his hands back down to his sides.
You hovered, unsure of what just happened. Did he cover your mouth for the kiss? You weren’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, you were admittedly relieved, not wanting your first kiss with Yoongi to be under these circumstances of obligation, and it certainly spoke to his respect for your own consent. Even though you were sure there wouldn’t be any more chances for a kiss anyway.
But a more sinister and greedy part of you wished he hadn’t shielded you, craved the soft touch of his lips against your own. You, ashamedly, wanted to share a romantic moment with him, even if it was a guise for a happy marriage. Just feeling his slightly calloused fingers grazing your cheeks was enough to leave you wanting more.
Applause startled you out of your trance, making you turn towards the audience and plaster a smile on your face. Scanning the crowd, you spotted Hoseok clapping, sending you an encouraging smile. You breathed out, feeling minutely comforted by his sweet smile.
Yoongi took your hand, holding it, as you began walking down the aisle. You’d practiced this yesterday, so your body was almost numb to the situation of his thumb rubbing against your forefinger.
Almost.
A nasty thought slithered its way into the forefront of your mind.
That was the same thumb that he covered the kiss with.
As you walked down the narrow pathway, making sure to smile at the sea of guests your mother had invited, you could feel your gaze growing hazier. This was all getting to be a bit overwhelming. Your feet were hurting in the heels your mother had made you wear, the jacquard of the dress was starting to dig into your skin at the bust, the hairpins lining your hair were hurting your scalp, and the scent of Yoongi’s cologne was intoxicating.
You and Yoongi reached the end of the aisle, walking past the doors and letting them close behind, leaving the both of you a few minutes to catch your breath before you were whisked away from the reception. Yoongi quickly separated from you, taking a water bottle from an attendant and downing almost half of it. Your hand felt cold suddenly.
Another employee offered a water bottle to you as well, and you gratefully accepted, taking a swig immediately. The cool liquid soothed your scratchy throat, feeling it go down with it being the only thing you’d had today by way of food. The attendants then gestured for you to follow them into separate changing rooms, preparing hanboks that your parents had wanted you to wear during the reception.
Letting the attendant dress you in the hanbok gave you time to process what had just happened. You were now married to Yoongi. You had filled out the paperwork about a week prior, but the bells and whistles of the ceremony made it feel much more real. Sighing, you took solace in the fact that the hardest bit was done.
But was it really?
Now, you had to sit through a reception, thanking guests for coming and pretending like Yoongi actually liked you. Exchanging recycled pleasantries and fake smiles with your parents’ social circle and business partners was less than appealing.
The employee quietly told you that she was finished and moved aside to let you look in the mirror.
You tried to be happy about how pretty you looked, but all you could see were your bloodshot eyes and the slightly cakey makeup trying to hide your eye bags. At least the hanbok wasn’t as tight as your dress.
Exiting the dressing room, you caught sight of Yoongi in his dark blue hanbok with white pants. He looked striking, as always, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be starstruck at this point in the day. You just wanted to go home and lie down. You were led to the reception hall where guests were already mingling for cocktail hour while the food was being prepped to be served.
A man whose name you didn’t know announced your arrival and the guests turned in your direction and began to clap. Yoongi grabbed your hand in his once more, the suddenness of the action making you flinch. You entered the hall, smiling and greeting guests politely. You couldn’t even recognize anyone staring back at you.
Yoongi led you through all the guests expertly, exchanging greetings and small talk smoothly like he’d done this before. You felt like you were in a trance, repeating the same pleasantries and shallow questions. How was he so good at this?
You finally reached the end of the guests, moving to your bridal parties. You hadn’t even seen your parents, your mother was probably talking to guests herself. Joohee pulled you into a tight hug, holding it for a second longer before releasing you with a comforting smile on her face and sympathy in her eyes. The other bridesmaids didn’t bother going beyond quick congratulations, which you were grateful for. You didn’t know them anyway. Hoseok was next to Joohee, also immediately encasing you and attempting to ruffle your hair, but you moved your head out of the way. He stepped back, taking a moment to look at you before speaking.
“You’re doing well.”
Your eyes became watery as you mustered up a shaky smile, something about him praising you for what felt like thankless effort almost pushed you over the edge, “Thanks, Hobi. Love you.”
“Love you too, always.”
“Hey, I love you too,” Joohee protested, making you bark out a laugh.
“You’re my number one, Joo,” you smiled, taking her hands and squeezing them. She grinned widely in response before punching Hoseok in the arm.
“Ow, what the heck,” he grumbled.
“Because I love Y/N more than you,” she responded petulantly, leaving Hoseok to only roll his eyes in response.
The antics made you smile, giving you room to breathe in the stifling room of business partnership discussions.
“Y/N,” Yoongi’s deep voice rumbled, making you freeze before turning to face him. His eyes laid on your figure in what felt like a scrutinizing manner, making you squirm under the heavy gaze.
“I’d like you to meet my groomsmen,” Yoongi stated, gesturing behind him, “You already know Jin hyung.”
You nodded mutely, sending an unsure smile in Seokjin’s direction. Why was he doing this? He hadn’t bothered to introduce you to them before, why did it matter now? Were you supposed to introduce Hoseok too, then?
“This is Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi continued, moving his hand to clap the tall, dimpled man’s shoulder. The man smiled politely, the dimples faint with the minute movement, and stepped forward, putting out his hand, “Hi, I’ve known Yoongi since college. It’s nice to meet you.”
You shook his hand, feeling quite exposed under his dragon-like eyes, “Nice to meet you too. I like your hair.” It was a rule that you’d made with yourself, to try and give at least one compliment to each new person you met. You found that it made them much more open and friendly towards you, and it didn’t hurt to receive compliments in return.
“Thanks,” Namjoon said, smile widening and deepening his dimples. His firm grasp on your hand grounded you, but you still felt your cheeks grow hot at the contact. Why were all of Yoongi’s friends so hot? “I like your hair too,” he finished. You smiled in response, pulling your hand away before your blush became too obvious.
“This is Kim Taehyung,” Yoongi’s voice pulled you out of the stupor Namjoon’s visual put you in, “I met him a bit after college. He’s a pretty famous jazz performer.”
The model-esque man from the previous day stepped forward, rendering you speechless. Seriously, what was with this friend group? His elegant cheekbones and narrow nose perfectly complemented the kind eyes that adorned his face, and the sandy blonde hair that fell on his forehead. He quickly took your hand in his, kissing the top, making you gasp in response.
“You have beautiful eyes,” Taehyung said, his voice was a smooth baritone that sent shivers down your spine. He looked up from your hand, eyes hooded from his brow bone, making you quickly pull away at the stunning visual.
“Thanks,” you stammered, trying to collect your thoughts, “You have a pretty smile.”
Taehyung’s face broke out into the aforementioned expression, an adorably contagious boxy smile, as he straightened up, “Thanks!”
“I actually listen to some jazz myself, though not that much,” you mentioned, wanting something to connect over, “I’ve been very into Kenny Garrett recently.”
Taehyung’s smile brightened, letting out a low chuckle, “Yes, he’s pretty great. You should come to one of my shows then, I’ll send you a ticket.”
You heard Yoongi clear his throat.
“You and Yoongi hyung a ticket, of course,” Taehyung finished, winking at you before turning away to greet Hoseok.
“And, lastly, this is Jeon Jeongguk. He’s the son of one of my father’s friends, so we grew up together,” Yoongi concluded, but Jeongguk interrupted.
“Hi, noona! You look so pretty,” Jeongguk smiled, excitedly hugging you. You laughed in response, patting his back before retorting, “Thanks, you look pretty too.”
Jeongguk pulled away, laughing jovially, “Thanks! I told Yoongi hyung we already talked but I don’t think he believed me.”
You stiffened, glancing at Yoongi, whose face was impassive, “Oh, I see.”
Yoongi stepped forward, blocking Jeongguk from your sight, “And who’s your guest?”
“Oh,” you stuttered, flustered by his closer presence, “This is Hoseok. We met in college, but he lives in Busan now. Well, not for much longer, he’s looking to move here,” you rambled.
Hoseok chuckled before placing a hand on your shoulder, “Hey, I’m Jung Hoseok. It’s nice to meet you.”
Both men shook hands before Hoseok returned to your side, “I’ve been by Y/N’s side ever since our first year, it’s a surprise I’ve lasted this long,” he finished with a short laugh.
You elbowed him in the side, only making him grimace and slip his hand down to your waist for a teasing squeeze, “I work a dance studio in Busan but I’m planning on opening my own here.”
“Impressive,” Yoongi stated in a monotone voice, “You two must be close.”
“The closest,” Hoseok grinned, pulling you flush to his side, causing you to struggle, “We’re very familiar.”
Oh no.
That’s Hoseok’s shit-stirring voice, you knew it well. One glance at his sardonic grin had you wrestling out of his grip and trying to move on in the conversation to avoid whatever Hoseok was planning, “Yeah, we and Joohee are all really good friends. We were practically inseparable until Hoseok moved. We should all get lunch together sometime so you can get to know them better.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Yoongi said, almost eerily calm, eyes set on Hoseok’s impish smile.
You deflated at his words, forgetting for a moment that Yoongi didn’t want you to mix personal lives. It was embarrassing to say the least, and you felt like you came off as desperate. You felt yourself curl inwards before muttering a quiet, “Sure.”
Yoongi sent a curt nod in Hoseok’s direction before turning away to return to his own friend group, leaving you flustered and disconcerted next to Hoseok. He grinned triumphantly before noticing your abashed state, quickly pulling you into a soothing hug.
You pulled away, not wanting to be embarrassed anymore tonight, and reached for a passing waiter’s tray of champagne. You didn’t usually drink at public functions, but you felt like this was a worthy exception. The bubbly liquid felt necessary to get through the rest of the night, and you welcomed the warming sensation enthusiastically. You didn’t catch Hoseok’s concerned gaze nor the other stare that fell on your form from a far darker pair of eyes across the table.
You were exhausted. Every limb in your body and your brain itself were screaming out with soreness and fatigue. It felt like a light at the end of a tunnel when guests began filing out and the party came to a close.
You were decently buzzed, but still sober enough to be aware, from the multiple champagne glasses you drank. Joohee had made sure to keep you well hydrated, somewhat numbing the effects of the alcohol on your body.
The rest of the reception had gone by quietly, with you and Yoongi separated for the majority of it, greeting what guests you hadn’t and barely talking during dinner. You were conflicted, somewhat grateful for the ease the lack of Yoongi’s presence gave you, but also finding yourself missing his confident aura.
You waved the last guest out, before letting yourself collapse on a nearby chair. Joohee patted your shoulder and Hoseok wandered off to grab your belongings so that you’d be ready to go. Your mother closed the door to the room before approaching you, Yoongi’s parents in tow.
“Yoongi,” his mother called, pulling him away from his friends who were seated at another table. He approached, arriving at your seat at the same time as your mother.
“You’ll be going home in the car we’ve called for you,” your mother stated, leaving no room for argument. You were going to stay in Yoongi’s apartment now, “I assume your things are already there?”
You nodded timidly.
“Right, well, we’ll leave you to it. Would you like to join me and Woohyun for some drinks,” your mother asked Yoongi’s parents.
“Yes, of course, we’ll have a driver take us to your home. Yoongi, be good now,” his mother said, patting Yoongi’s shoulder and giving you a polite smile. You mustered up what you hoped was a smile in response, but you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a grimace instead.
Your mother offered you no goodbye and instead gathered your father and gave some closing instructions to the cleaning staff, before swiftly exiting. You were left looking at Yoongi, who was mouthing something to his friends, waiting to see what he would do.
Joohee squeezed your shoulder before leaving you to help Hoseok with your bags. Hoseok didn’t really need help as you didn’t have much except the clothes you’d arrived in and some electronics, but you could tell Joohee wanted to escape the tense atmosphere. You couldn’t blame her.
Yoongi turned toward you, making you stand automatically to meet his gaze, “Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, let me just,” you started before being interrupted by Hoseok arriving with your bag. You chuckled awkwardly as Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, watching you take the bags from Hoseok. Joohee was next to him, fiddling with her phone in an effort to not engage, you assumed.
“Are you leaving,” Hoseok asked, to which you nodded in response, “Well, have fun. Call me anytime, I’ll always be there.” He pulled you into a hug, making you melt in his embrace. You soon felt Joohee’s arms wrap around you as well, “Me too, we’ll talk later.” They released you before giving you encouraging smiles. You couldn’t say you felt the same level of confidence.
Facing Yoongi, you gathered your bags, noting his one bag at his side, likely containing his suit. He nodded curtly at Hoseok and Joohee, who waved in response, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. You stumbled after him, waving a messy goodbye to Hoseok and Joohee, and finally catching up to Yoongi holding the door open for you. You tried to muster a grateful nod, but seeing his cold expression, you moved quickly to get out the door.
Awaiting your arrival outside was a sleek, black car, with a chauffeur standing patiently holding the door open to the backseat. You took a quick glance at Yoongi, who gestured for you to enter first, so you did, leaving your bags sitting outside. Yoongi climbed in afterward, quietly asking the driver to put the luggage in the trunk. The two of you sat in silence, waiting for the driver to finish packing the luggage away.
It was finally over.
Somehow, it didn’t feel that way. The relief you’d hoped to feel was nowhere to be found and you were left with only the biting anxiety that Yoongi’s silence incited. You played mindlessly with the seams of your hanbok, finding it slightly uncomfortable to sit in the backseat with. Yoongi didn’t seem to share the same discomfort, scrolling idly on his phone and not acknowledging your presence.
You wished you could do the same, but you’d left your phone in your bag after not having used it all day. Instead, you turned to the scenery outside your window to keep yourself occupied. The driver soon started up the car and began heading to Yoongi’s apartment. Watching the scenery fly by gave you time to think about what was waiting for you there.
You hadn’t visited Yoongi’s apartment yet, too afraid and uncomfortable to set foot inside a space so truly and specially his. Most of your things from your own apartment were apparently already set up, courtesy of his maid, Mrs. Lim, whom you had been in contact with when you first dropped off your things. You had been in a rush, trying to get to a dress fitting, and Mrs. Lim had insisted that you give everything to her and that she would make sure it would be ready for you when you came.
You supposed now was that time.
Yoongi was still silent beside you and you weren’t sure what to say to him. You hadn’t really spoken for the rest of the night after his odd introduction to Hoseok. It frustrated you how the little things he was doing kept messing with your head.
You weren’t an idiot, you knew that his actions could point toward jealousy, but you refused to consider that as a possibility. Not only would it contradict his entire attitude towards you, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel even a sliver of hope that Yoongi might harbor feelings toward you. The constant self-regulation was taxing and you dreaded the idea that this would be your future, constantly reminding yourself that your husband doesn’t love you and to not get confused.
Your thoughts halted with the car as the driver pulled into the entrance of the large building that housed Yoongi’s apartment. It was dark, so you gladly accepted the help of the chauffeur in getting out of the car. He kindly handed you your bags before bowing and driving away. You didn’t have access to the building yet, having called Mrs. Lim for your past visits, so you looked helplessly at Yoongi to unlock the door.
He didn’t spare you a glance as he punched in his code and stood aside to let you in. You nodded in thanks anyway and shivered at the cold nipping at your cheeks. Yoongi led you to the elevator, pressing the 9th-floor button, silently standing in the opposite corner from you.
Sighing internally, you almost laughed at the blatant display of the contempt he held for you. For the first time, you thought of him as slightly immature.
The elevator doors slid open and Yoongi led you to a hallway with only four doors, each housing a penthouse apartment. The farthest door was Yoongi’s, you learned, as he held his thumb up to the pad before hearing a click and pushing the door open. Mrs. Lim was immediately there to greet him.
“Mr. Min, let me take your things. Oh, Ms. Seo! Here, I’ll take your bags to your room. Wait, should I call you Mrs. Min, now?”
You smiled at the sweet, older woman, nodding your greeting, “Hi, Mrs. Lim. Please, just call me Y/N.”
She smiled at you, taking your things and rushing off to the upstairs portion of the apartment. It left you standing awkwardly next to Yoongi, who was typing something out on his phone. You took the moment to let your eyes wander around the sparkling apartment. It looked straight out of a catalogue with cool tones and neat furniture with an open concept. He had smooth, black leather couches surrounding a large TV with a path into a dining room that housed a large table and comfortable-looking chairs. That was next to a large kitchen with a wide counter in the middle and a sleek, silver refrigerator and oven. It looked nice, but not welcoming. You preferred warmer lighting and more touches of color, with some plants, but you reminded yourself that this wasn’t your space to customize.
Or was it? You weren’t really sure. It felt like you were invading Yoongi’s home, but wasn’t it your home now too? Should you be able to decorate it to your liking as well? Or at least compromise? The thought of addressing that now felt too overwhelming and you didn’t want to piss off Yoongi so early into your stay.
“You can go change and get ready to sleep. We can discuss the ground rules now or tomorrow morning, your choice,” Yoongi said, snapping you out of your observation of the apartment.
You nodded absently, wondering what other rules he had, “I can come down after changing.”
Yoongi hummed in response before taking off to the stairs, evidently going to change himself. You stood awkwardly by the entrance, not knowing exactly where your room was, and decided to take hesitant steps toward the stairs.
“Oh, Ms. Seo, let me help you to your room,” came Mrs. Lim’s comforting voice from the top of the stairs. You gratefully accepted her help and followed her through the halls as she gave you a tour.
“Over there is Mr. Min’s office, and just next to it, his bedroom. He has another office downstairs for his work, this one is more for personal use. There’s a bathroom here, but you have an en-suite bathroom in your bedroom anyway. There’s an extra room downstairs that I’ve fashioned into a bit of an office for you if you’d like to use it. That’s the guest bedroom there, the hallway bathroom is mainly for that one. Sometimes Mr. Min’s friends will stay over if they’ve drunk. Ah! Here’s your bedroom.”
You entered, enjoying Mrs. Lim’s chattering as she gave you a mini tour. Your bedroom was large with a queen-sized bed and soft-looking sheets with a fluffy comforter. There was a desk in the corner and a vanity in the other. You noted a door on the side that must lead to the bathroom, and your bags sitting on the floor by the desk.
“Through that door is your closet and bathroom. I’ve set up your closet for the most part and tried to make it homey, but please feel free to decorate it to your liking! I’m so excited to have another woman here long term, Mr. Min doesn’t always make for great company. Oh, but don’t tell him I said that!”
You giggled, enjoying the motherly presence Mrs. Lim provided, and began unpacking some of your bags from the day, “Thank you, Mrs. Lim. I appreciate you doing all this for me. And please, call me Y/N.”
“Of course. Do you need assistance getting out of your hanbok?”
“No, I think I’ll be alright, thank you.”
“Right, then I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be off shift now so I’ll be heading home, but please feel free to call me if you have any questions.”
“Of course, thank you, Mrs. Lim. Have a good night.”
She bowed before exiting and you breathed out, sitting on the plush bed, making the comforter balloon around you. The room was nice, definitely, but it felt a bit stale and unwelcoming. At least you could customize this area without having to worry about Yoongi. You opened the door to the closet, marveling at the size and open entrance into the bathroom with a large tub and shower. Your clothes were nicely organized and you had no trouble finding some pajamas to change into with an old shirt you’d stolen from Hoseok and shorts.
Quickly undressing, you neatly hung up your hanbok and slipped into the shower, grabbing the necessary toiletries from your bag. You relished in being able to wash the hair spray out of your hair and loosen it from your scalp, glaring at the pile of hairpins that sat on the granite counter you’d spent upwards of five minutes removing. The warm water soothed your aching legs and the soapy bodywash felt rejuvenating.
You swiftly finished showering, not wanting to keep Yoongi waiting, and wrapped yourself in a towel before loosely drying your hair. You preferred to let it air dry, so you only lightly patted it with a towel. Drying off the rest of your body, you donned new undergarments, pausing on whether or not to put on a bra. You usually didn’t wear bras to bed, but you didn’t want to go down to meet Yoongi braless.
You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation and pulled on a comfortable sports bra, before slipping on your shorts and t-shirt, finally feeling comfortable. Quickly checking your reflection in the massive mirror, you headed down the stairs to meet Yoongi.
He was sitting on the leather couch in a loose white t-shirt and black sweatpants, almost taking your breath away at how beautifully casual he looked. You’d only seen him in suits so far and seeing him in loungewear with wet hair and a towel around his neck left you flustered. He noticed your presence, eyes running over your form making you feel embarrassed.
He gestured for you to join him on the couch, setting aside his phone to lean forward on his knees. You sat on the loveseat across from him, not quite sure what the etiquette was at this point.
“Okay, so I’ve already told you the general rules I have. Basically, don’t enter my space without knocking and please, do not go into my upstairs office. I’ll do the same for you. You’re free to set up your rooms however you like.”
You nodded, all of this seemed pretty fair so far.
“You can use the kitchen however you like, just let Mrs. Lim know what groceries you want. If I have guests over, I’d prefer if you stayed in your room, but I won’t force you. This space is as much yours as it is mine, now.”
You continued nodding along, making some notes of getting a TV for your room so you could properly entertain yourself when his friends were over. You wouldn’t exactly want him coming into the room when you’re with Hoseok and Joohee either.
“You can invite your friends over whenever you want, just let me know in advance. I’ll be sure to do the same for you. Also, if I have any of my own partners over,” he continued, the last words causing you to flinch, “I’ll make sure to let you know. Please just give us some privacy and try not to be out in the common space when they’re here. Of course, I’ll extend the same courtesy.”
The harsh reminder of the openness of the marriage left you squirming in the chair. You didn’t want to remember that Yoongi would be fucking other people in the home you shared.
“We can add things as we get used to living together. Anything you want to add?”
You shook your head quickly, just wanting to go to bed as soon as possible. Yoongi nodded, rising, before sparing you one last glance.
“Alright, goodnight then.”
“Goodnight,” you squeaked, watching him ascend the stairs. After his form disappeared into the hallway, you leaned back on the loveseat, exhaling harshly. What a conversation. You’d have to take some time to get used to this. You returned to your room feeling heavily conflicted. As you set up your phone and watch chargers, you thought over the conversation.
Objectively, Yoongi was being relatively fair, letting you exist in the space in the same capacity as him. Yet, you still felt unhappy. You knew why. You wanted him to be only yours, to have the same exclusive outlook you did on the relationship. You were upset with yourself more than him.
He had made this clear from the beginning, that he had no intention of stopping any partners outside of the relationship. He clearly didn’t want to have a relationship with you, sex or not, so what he was doing now was completely fair.
You couldn’t turn the emotional part of your brain that craved to have a real romantic relationship with him. It was almost annoying and you were frustrated at yourself for continuing to feel this way.
Climbing into bed, you continued wallowing, deciding that you’d pity yourself tonight, but the next day, you’d have to pull yourself together. You’d taken a couple of weeks off at the insistence of your boss, even though he knew you weren’t going on a honeymoon, and you wanted to enjoy sleeping in.
It was time to adopt Yoongi’s approach and try to remove yourself emotionally from the situation. How hard could it be?
Yoongi couldn’t focus on his book, ultimately setting it aside on his bedside table. He furiously rubbed at his eyes, feeling frustrated.
His eyes hadn’t been listening to him lately. They seemed to constantly wander after your figure, finding your face and curves at every corner. The past couple of days, they had barely strayed from you, watching as you cuddled up to that man, Hoseok.
Who was he? Were you two together? Was Hoseok in love with you? More importantly, why did it bother Yoongi so much?
He groaned, feeling annoyed that your relationship with Hoseok was getting to him so much. He had been the one to set the boundary of it being an open relationship, so why did it bother him so much that you seemed to be employing that? Yoongi knew that he had no right to feel this way and was only further annoyed that he continued to do so.
And what was with your budding friendship with Jeongguk? When did you two become so close? Yoongi buried his head in his hands, shouldn’t he be happy that his friends and wife are getting along?
Wife. It felt odd to say, or think, that. You were his wife now. Except he’d made it clear that the title didn’t change anything between you, nor would it change his actions. Despite his earlier resolve to not let this marriage affect him, you seemed to be having a great effect on him.
He’d followed your form and mannerisms throughout the past couple of days. He’d noticed your trembling hands and avoiding eye contact. When the two of you had been about to kiss, he could feel your body shaking beneath his hands, prompting him to cover your mouth for the kiss.
He hated how tempted he’d been to fully kiss you.
Throughout the rest of the ceremony and reception, you’d been largely withdrawn, until you’d met with Hoseok. Yoongi was frustrated that you didn’t seem to be able to stand up for yourself, that you played so well into the role of a trophy wife, but he’d been even more upset at your close contact with Hoseok.
The man had laid his hands on you so easily and seeing the way Hoseok’s fingers curled around your waist and your smile when you talked to him made Yoongi’s blood boil. Why hadn’t you smiled at him like that?
Yoongi bit his lip, he knew that wasn’t your fault. He hadn’t been welcoming at all to you, he’d barely given you a chance to talk to him. Yoongi was just steadfast in his mission to continue on with life as normal, he didn’t want this marriage to change anything. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to be upset with you going along with his requests.
You were dangerous.
You were dangerous in the way that you nodded along to everything Yoongi asked, in the way you refused to let your mask slip and show any emotion, in the way you smiled so brightly with Hoseok and Jeongguk, in the way your cheeks tinged pink when Taehyung kissed your hand and Namjoon smiled at you, and in the way you looked so comfortable and natural in your pajamas.
Yoongi had to suck in a breath when he saw you entering the living room with your freshly washed and damp hair, falling in wet curls strands around your shoulders, making a wet spot on the oversized dance team t-shirt.
That was another thing. Where had you gotten that shirt? It was far too big for you, Yoongi knew that well. It was obvious in the way it fell past the hem of your shorts, tantalizing his eyes to rake down your legs, and it was for a college dance team. Were you on one in college?
Or, Yoongi’s mind raced, was it Hoseok’s? Hadn’t the man said he worked in a dance studio? The thought made Yoongi fume, just how close had you two gotten?
But he paused, what right did he have to feel upset? Yoongi had been in bed with another woman just days ago, it wasn’t fair of him to judge you for doing the same. He’d said that you were allowed to sleep with or date whoever you wanted, so why was he so angry at the idea of you and Hoseok?
Another sigh escaped him, he didn’t have it in him to deal with this tonight. Just the idea of you a few rooms down in that too-big shirt and too-short shorts was enough to drive him crazy.
He reached over, turning off the lamp next to his bed. He’d unpack his feelings in the morning. Yoongi turned over, settling into bed, ignoring how empty and cold his hand felt without your warmth.
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i just wanna be price’s lil housewife, is that too much to ask?
i want him to come home from a long day and just let me take care of him 🤭🥹
Comforts of Home
Pairing: John Price x F!Housewife!Reader
Synopsis: Good are the days when you wake up and John is already beside you. (18+)
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: Sleepy morning sex, p in v, soft dom Price? & fluff, etc.
A/N: There's absolutely nothing wrong in wanting that, Anon, I feel you. I had no idea if this was a request or not but I used it as smut practice sooo
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
When you woke up, the heavy arms around your waist nearly made your heart give out. Eyes wide, your unfocused gaze flickers back into consciousness onto the far wall with a violent tensing of your muscles; lids going back.
You’re about to rush from bed with a call for alarm, but the soft snores puffing against the back of your neck makes your half-risen body freeze.
A moment of clarity alights in the dim hours.
John, eyes close with a great sigh and an immediate calming of your heart, ribs raising and falling once more at a, gradually, deadening pace. You’d forgotten that your husband was more stubborn than you—and seeing that he’d slipped into your bed without waking you, it just proved your point.
A low grumble leaves lips slipping over the clutch of your shoulder, the grip along your body being tightened like you were nothing more than a teddy bear. With a small smile on your face, you’re being dragged back into an expansive chest, firm muscle forming the mattress of warm flesh and wrinkled sheets of mapped scars.
It was never in John’s nature to take advantage of you, and thus, even if you told him it was alright, the SAS Captain never woke you when he came home in the small hours of the morning.
He’d called it inconsiderate to do so—ungentlemanly—but in reality, you knew it was because the bastard liked to watch you sleep in nothing but one of his gargantuan shirts and a pair of thin underwear.
Your fatigued body presses itself farther into the Brit’s chest, feeling the rumbles of his breathing and how he conforms to you, his toned hips pushing forward into the space in between your legs. He smells like your shampoo; the wisps of his beard hair soft like silk from his oils that he knows you love.
At the very least he’d gathered enough energy last night to take a shower. How many times had you woken up because of the stench of cigar smoke and blood; dirt and dust that stung your nostrils something fierce? You’d lost count.
Oh, John…
Reaching down, your fingers dance over your husband’s firm grip, the hold unyielding unless you simply wake and ask him to move.
But you didn’t want that.
You intertwine your digits together, eyelashes fluttering over your cheeks as the earliness of the morning hits you. It was still slightly dark in the bedroom, only a fraction of the light from the sun cascading in from black-out curtains.
“Hnm,” the sound escapes you as the lead form of John lays heavily; squeezing you with a delicious roving of barely covered skin.
It was no surprise that John had gone to bed as utterly naked as the day he was born.
“Stop moving.” Lips mutter, half lost to the sound of shifting cotton and your lower body being refitted closer with a hand to your naval, pulling your arse rearward.
You blink, skin tingling and cheeks hot as a pinky brushes over the elastic of your underwear, slipping under as it once more falls stationary.
“I didn’t expect you to be back last night.” The room was usually cold without John—he was always considered the space heater out of the two of you when it came time to sleep. His much larger and rarely clothed form was never far from you and made blankets or sheets completely worthless.
You sometimes compared him to a mini sun with how much raw warmth he exuded; even told him that he should consider being a science experiment with how little it made sense.
How can someone even be this toasty?
“Came in ‘round o-three-hundred,” John says, moving with a sigh before situating his head to rest it above yours and pressing his nose to your scalp in the meantime. “The boys are fine.”
An up-tick pulls at your lip muscles. He knew how you worried about everyone on One-Four-One.
“Good.” Your backside shifts with a rotating of your pelvis, the Brit’s thigh in between your legs more comfortable if you move farther up it. A shiver slices your spine; voice goes breathy. “And you?”
John’s breath hitched, and you could feel a low roll of thunder in his breast. His grip tightens.
“Alive.”
So stoic. You roll your eyes at the brief explanation but internally enjoy the statement. Sometimes it was better to only receive the bare minimum when it comes to your husband's job. And you sigh as a growing pressure makes itself known near the base of your tailbone.
“What about my wife, then?” John’s fingers start moving below your stomach in small circles, the skin of your abdomen obeying the push and pull readily. “She do anything worthwhile when I was away?”
Fatigued cheekiness enters his tone when you shiver and bring his hand up to your mouth—laying gentle kisses on the knicks and scratches. New scrapes.
You chuckle lightly.
“Hm, I planted new flowers in the back.”
“Did you now?” John huffs, taking down a slow breath as his digits delve lower. You surrender readily to him, letting him do as he wished before jolting when his forefinger brushed your bundle of nerves. He purrs like a cat, “What kinds.”
Your husband’s watching you closely with a partially-closed eye, tired yet that gleam of awareness is still present in cerulean blue; breathing into your ear as the image of his hands inside of your panties sturs his eagerness even more. His legs shift in muted annoyance at the creeping sensation over his lower body.
He likes the way you languidly roll with him.
Fuck, how long had he wanted to do this? To come home to you—his housewife—to a home that was void of shouting and the scent of gunpowder and engine oil. A loving touch; a soft body. Being away from you was worse than torture.
His little beauty. His little wife.
When soft sighs answer him instead of words, he comes to a pause; thigh moving to give him ample space to work and spread your legs farther.
“What kinds, Love?” He teases, a smirk pulling his lips back that leaves you shaking when you sense it forming over your skin.
“S-Star Jasmine.” You whisper, opening your lower body to him as his digits go once more to bring a striking of lighting, pulse in your core growing hot as his scent overwhelms you. Eyes snap shut, constricting over nothing even as a great need screams that you shouldn’t be.
The bedroom is filled with the soft noises of hitched breaths and carefully flinching legs intertwined with covers. With every circle of John’s touch, your arousal grows; tension breeding in the sudden slickness of your cunt that pools out to coat the man’s digits.
You’d missed this.
“What else?” A hard press for a non-enunciated reward and you whine, fingers tightening over his other hand as he noses over your pulse, whispering kisses like butterfly’s wings over your rapid pulse. “Use your words.”
Your mind falters, the unknown of what John would do next leaving your neurons short-circuiting. Sure, you’d touched yourself to his voice over calls—helped gotten each other off by just the static through a phone—but having him here. Feeling you now with tender care and blown-wide eyes that darken like a storm. Yourself still clothed in a shirt and now ruined panties and your beast of a husband with nothing but a dripping erection that now digs like hot iron into the curve of your ass.
He bites a hickey into the skin below your ear and you gasp out.
“John, please, j…just,” The Brit laughs at you, deep chuckles jerking against your back before the hand you’re gripping tight leaves to curl under your breasts; trapping you to him as you squirm.
The abuse of your clit ceases and you’re forced to confront the structure of your lungs as they fight for air. A sudden patheticness fills your blood at the ache of your empty slit. Eyebrows pull in.
“John!” Behind you, the man’s hard-on ruts into you as he grunts into your neck, biceps flaring with every-other movement. He does it slowly, still tired in the early hours but unable to help himself for the very same reason. Desperately, he wanted you as a fish longs for water.
All-consuming; yielding rapture that only can be fulfilled by your malleable flesh.
The friction moves your body back and forth, mouth opening in weakened pants of soft breaths and sluggish muscles. You didn’t want to move but at the same time, the teasing leaves you yearning to be held down and left filled; only smelling like John and sweaty linen as slick bodies fuck half-asleep.
Your cheeks are burning as the sensation of being used washes over you.
“Tell me. C’mon, know you can.” John’s fast yet hushed tone accompanied by the sensation of his pre-cum slathering itself over your sensitive skin and his dick twitching was a drug. It became hard to think between those demanding instincts and hopeless attempts to form cohesive thoughts.
“I–” You force out, face screwed up, “Green Spice.”
“Attagirl.” Your panties are stretched to the side, and the thigh in your shaking legs shoves you open even wider. “Lookin’ damn good in my shirt, Sweetheart, y’know that? Eh? Bloody temptress.”
The stiff desperation of his cock makes you moan before it finds the entrance to your slit.
“Just for you.” Your voice hitches at John’s eagerness; his desperation to be joined—held in your wet clutch despite how tired you know he is. How tired you were.
The Captain works so hard; spreads his blood over the earth in defense of others with little need for reward or recognition. He came home without an expectation of you to even spoil him—the thought makes your mind sad. How could he not expect that? Hell, he spoils you by leaving a spare credit card for your every whim and want; you could ask for anything and he’d get it with no hesitation.
His wife.
Even now with his cock ready to enter your eager yet unstretched cunt, his body vibrating and breathing fast, he pauses.
Your eyes flutter open, huffing in expectation as you clench over nothing, slick falling over the mattress. You blink and look over your shoulder to find blue orbs watching you; the wrinkles around the Brit’s eyes tiny.
You hum a question, shifting your lower body to grind into John’s twitching dick, memorizing the grand size of his leaking head as your lashes flutter. The man groans and tights the hold under your breasts.
“Let me?” He pants.
A small smile forms on your sweat-slick face, fingers tight over the sheets. John lays a kiss on your cheek, so close it takes little movement as the bed creaks.
“You don’t need to ask, Love.” You chuckle, heart warm. “You’re my husband.”
The confession seems to spark something in his eyes, a smirk slashing his lips. The Captain’s pelvis moves, angling the tip until you feel the burn of an unready cunt as it causes you to mewl.
“Always gonna ask,” he grunts into your ear as your head falls back to its sideways position in concentration as your face scrunches; muscles wound. “Proper, eh?”
“Such a gentleman.” You whimper, body jerking as more of his sizable girth is swallowed down. Deep pulsing emulates inside your body, a sheen of oblivion opening between pain and a deep-seated pleasure that only John gives you. The Brit shushes you comfortingly. “Even as he’s opening me up without letting me cum on his fingers first.”
“Couldn’t help myself.” He’s shivering, feeling himself enter your heat as slowly as he’s able. “Had to have you like this. In our bed. Wearin’ my shirt. Fuckin’ hell.” John gasps, feeling you constrict around him like a vice as his abdomen bunches.
He wouldn’t last long, but neither would you. The two of you were wasted on each other, just wanting to feel the friction of skin and the sweet release of an orgasm that the both of you can share now that you were together.
The sound of him entering you was vulgar, a liquid squelching that echoes above the tight sighs and growls.
“Keep taking it, then,” John pants, forehead pressed heavily into your scalp, muttering into your hair dreamily. “Know you can. Just like that, now.”
With your mouth opening and sweat dribbling down your neck you feel him bottom out with a horrible shaking, grip almost bruising as his free hand goes to massage your clit sluggishly.
Your cunt spasms, textured walls stretched to their limit on the throws of delicious agony as veins press into silky grooves, the clutch of John’s cock-head a plug of large proportion. If you move, you’re afraid you’ll tear something.
“Erm,” the fullness sends searing heat up your vertebrae, back struggling against your husband’s chest to arch as your toes curl.
“Hush, Love.” John quickly runs circles over your bundle, “Easy, now. I’ve got you…Let me show you how much I enjoy being home with my wife, yeah.” He’s rambling—how he usually does when he’s sleepily fucking you on maybe two hours of oblivion.
Your pleasure bleeds raw, and the scrape of the man’s exiting and re-entering cock becomes a trance-like affair of passion. The bedframe hits the wall, a steady, slow, rocking of thrusts that emulate the bare affection John uses you as an example for.
Moaning, you stare blankly at the far wall, body jolting whenever he manages to strike that sweet spot and bite into your back’s flesh in unbridled adoration. He whispers the dirtiest things to you, and your lower-body flexes with each uttered sentence.
“So good to me, keepin’ this cunt all to myself.”
“Walls so tight I can feel you tryin’ to push me out, Love. Fuck.”
“Hear that, eh? Listen, b-bloody hell, listen to how wet you are for my cock.”
It brings you to a point of tears, satisfaction building to a tight knot of immobility. It was a good thing John liked doing all the work for you because although you had been meeting his thrusts quite evenly before, now you had all but lost the plot. Your thighs quiver, slit trying to tense over the man’s foreign prodding until it became apparent you’d been molded into the very shape of him like a form in the snow; flesh littered with the dew of perspiration as the scent of carnal desire swims.
“That’s right, Love.” John’s jaw is clenched, pace for a minute quickening as he feels you shifting as if possessed with feelings of overstimulation. “That’s it. So good to be home with you—home with my little housewife who ruins me.”
Your hands clench into the bedsheets; sounds of ecstasy get louder and more clipped.
“Fuck,” you gasp, repeating the curse multiple times along with John’s name. “John—” One more angled thrust and you’re left shoving your head into the pillow, great waves of precious enlightenment smashing into your chest full force until you can only recall the sensation of your husband’s strangled breaths and the feeling of his seed spilling into your womb.
Sloppy and quick ruts of varying success as his abdominals convulse in a display as old as time itself. Panting and shuttering, your body utterly falls limp.
The joined fluids of evidence ooze out to form a sticky concoction over your thighs and cunt, pubic hairs on both ends shiny with cum.
Hands spread over your breasts to grip and massage; traveling atop your quivering body as well as your achy hips. John’s thigh leaves the spread of your legs so the one can fall back to the mattress with a muffled thump and a poof of fleeing air. But his cock stays where it belongs, milky ring dribbling as every slight movement causes you to contract and him to grunt and wrench his eyes shut.
It’s sometime later that a firm set of lips is dug into your neck, fingers skating over every possible section of skin as small nips set nerves alight with sensitive sensations. You hum in appreciation at the worship of your body, sensing the hard muscle that protects you as well as the physical words before they’re spoken aloud.
“I love you.” You smile.
“I love you too, John.” Your head weakly turns, noticing the farther-risen sun beyond the curtains of the hot and sex-scented room. Finding blue eyes already staring at you from the pillow and the small smile present on mustache-hidden lips, you smirk. John chuckles, though he doesn’t know what’s in store.
“You’re letting me make you breakfast today.”
“Hm...you’ll not find me complaining.”
There really was nothing else like coming home.
TAGS||
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Positively unstoppable (Halsin Silverbough x reader)
synopsis: It is the height of bear mating season and with the heat around all of you, you and your group are forces to stop traveling for a while. Well, it seems your lover is not quite comfortable telling you it is mating season as he is scared you are weirded out. Yet he also can´t hold himself back when faced with you.
warnings: p in v sex, mating press, Halsin in heat should be his own warning, some bear like behaviour ig, basically porn without plot, kinda fluff at the end, afab reader
word count: 1.5k
taglist: @hopelesswritergall @foxyanon
(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)
A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon that requested Halsin in heat as soon as they saw my post about researching bear mating season for this <3
Dividers by me
The heat of the height of summer was burning down harsh upon your traveling bodies, bringing your party to a screeching halt when the only thing possible, was to put up camp and find a way to cool down your overheating forms. As soon as your tent is set up, you decide to head to the river nearby, wanting to cool down in the little lake it ended in.
Only after you rid yourself of the clothing and stepped into the water, you notice the towering form of Halsin sitting close by already, his eyes focused on the flow and movement of the river. From the movement of his shoulders, it was clear that he was breathing deeply, most likely meditating. For a moment you contemplate going over to him, but when you look back to where he sat Halsin was already gone. Or so you thought until the water began to ripple into small waves upon the druid stepping into it. He looks tense. More than usual and for sure more than the past couple of weeks, which honestly you didn´t think was possible.
“Are you feeling well? You have been behaving differently for quite some time now.” You voice your concern quietly as to not disturb the peace of the nature surrounding the two of you.
“I can assure you, that I am feeling quite alright.” His words hold relatively little meaning in the face of the way he borderline flinches away from your touch as you begin to run the water over his warm skin. Or the voice that comes out is gruff, yet you can feel his breath hitch just the slightest bit. Immediately you pulled your hands away from him, trying to see through him. A futile attempt so you take his hands in yours and look him deep in the eyes.
"Love, I would be fine even if you told me, you do not wish to talk about it, but just tell me truthfully. Are you alright?" Looking into his eyes, Halsin's pupils have swallowed almost all the green that surrounds them.
In what you perceive as just a sweet attempt to calm your worries, the tall man leans down to rest his forehead against yours, while holding your chin in one gentle hand.
"I am fine." He put emphasis on every word he speaks.
But you are so close and your scent so much stronger than the rest of the year, singing to him in the most irresistible tones. It all made the druid unable to keep himself from nuzzling your face and neck, thus eliciting a so far successfully held back moan and a shiver of arousal runs down your spine. A ripple of pleasure runs through your entire body when he begins to nibble on the tender skin.
"Halsin..." His name trembles from your tongue.
"You're mine." He only growls in return.
It's a rarely seen show of possession from your lover and all the more powerful whispered in the low baritone of his affected voice.
Halsin picks you up as if you weigh nothing and lays you in the grass at the riverbank and doesn't waste a second to crawl on top of you. With one swift motion he hooks his large, muscular arms into the hollow of your knees to lay them over his shoulders.
"Damn it, I cannot wait any longer. Your folds simply feel too immaculate." The druid breathes out the trembling words as he rubs his hard cock between your folds to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves atop it with his tip.
With one strong push and a sigh that fans his hot breath over your ear and cheek, Halsin bottoms out inside your tight cunt. In turn, your walls flutter around his thick member and your back arches until your chest squishes your legs even more between the two of you.
"Oh, you feel so good inside of me. Always stretch me out so much it's like my cunt will take the shape of your cock one day." You babble mindlessly as you get used to the stretch that feels like it threatens to split you in two.
Halsin doesn't give you much time to get used to his massive size as he sets for an ambitious pace, pushing into your core painfully over and over again until your pained whimpers and moans turn into sounds of pleasure and begging for more.
"Please do not ever stop." You cry out as Halsin's massive paw of a hand begins to pinch and twist your nipples, losing control of himself a bit more and taking the pace and intensity of his thrusts up a notch. One of your hand buried its nails in his shoulder to attempt to ground yourself, while the other grips and lightly pulls on his hair. Immediately your companion leans down to seal your lips with his, kissing you with teeth and tongue. The moment your lips meet, he is positively unstoppable.
You get pushed into the grass with his whole weight, his balls slap against your ass cheeks as you get rocked back and forth by inhumanely, animalistic thrusts. The wet sounds of the tip of Halsin´s cock bullying your most sensitive spot, drenching it in your juices as a result and making the sounds of your hips slapping against each other wetter as time went on. It felt so good that the brain fog soon took over, rendering you unable to kiss him back any longer.
“Nothing feels so divine as your tight walls fluttering around my cock.” Your brain barely registers the words the druid huffs against your lips before kissing you again. Unwavering despite the fact your lips hang open ever so slightly to make way for shaky breaths and high pitched, eager whines.
“Fuck, I can feel you are close, my love. Your cunt could not possibly squeeze me any tighter.” Halsin lets out another insatiable growl, before he coaxes the first peak out of your body. Revelling in the sight of you being shaken by the waves of pleasure he provides.
“Halsin…” You moan the druids name like a mantra, like a quiet prayer to your own personal god that simply continued to bless you with the pleasure that still caused your body to tremble in the aftershocks of climax.
Two more peaks he pulls from your body until you are nothing but a puddle of panting breaths overstimulated cries and a lose grip that tries to hold onto his shoulders, to hold your legs where he put them. Only then Halsin bottoms out inside of you once more. Buried as deep as he can, with his thick tip kissing the opening to your womb, he shoots a great amount of his seed into you. Together the two of you stay intermingled for what feels like an eternity. With your arms wrapped around the other to hold them close as you breathe in the air that the other lets out until you both feel dizzy. The druid wipes the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the greatest care and strokes a lost strand of hair behind your ear, while all you can do is to fight the brain fog and keep his eye contact. Those sage coloured eyes you loved so much, gently get you back to reality, where there is nothing left but to giggle until you burst into full on satisfied laughter.
“Hah, I had a feeling you would go insane on me one day. Yet I never would have imagined it would happen after I laid with you.” Halsin jests as he sits back on his haunches and taps your thighs to motion for you to assist him in sitting you up as well.
You follow his wordless command and sit up, wincing when there is a dull sensation shooting through your core.
“Do you feel aright, my love?” He asks with his eyebrows suddenly knitted together in concern.
“Yes, love. Positively spend, but fine nonetheless and you need not worry about my state of mind any time soon.” You lean forward to place a peck on the tip of your companion’s nose. “I was merely overwhelmed with the content feeling that floods me whenever I am near you and did not know how else to handle it. In fairness one should think I would have learned it by now, but I am far from it. It still is so hard to believe I am lucky enough to be able to call you mine.”
Gratefully you accept the small pouch of water that Halsin hands you and take a few sips, before handing it back.
“I understand what you mean. Sometimes it all feels like it is too good to be true. Like being on the verge of waking up from the most beautiful dream.” The soft voice of your lover makes you feel all fuzzy inside with how effortlessly he understands.
“Exactly, like being on the verge of waking up from the most immaculate dream.”
#halsin#halsin bg3#druid halsin#halsin silverbough#halsin x reader#halsin bg3 x reader#bg3#baldurs gate 3#bg3 fanfic#baldurs gate 3 fanfic
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𝒫𝒾𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝑒𝒻
Diluc x reader
You took all the pillows in the shared bed, therefore, Diluc had to find an alternative.
Fluff : No Trigger Warnings
800 words
My lovely husband Diluc deserves comfort and we deserve cuddles so here is something that I really enjoyed writing, I really hope this is good though, thus feedback is always appreciated <3
Diluc had enough of this.
He loves you more than anything, undoubtedly so.
But this had to stop tonight.
You were always stealing all the pillows in your shared bed.
“You little egoistic”, Diluc murmured while watching you sleep like a baby, with his heavy eyes. Although, even if the red-haired man was annoyed at this, he couldn’t help but gazed at you with so much love.
Diluc gave up on trying to get back to sleep after a moment.
Choosing for now to lay on his side, facing you, his left arm under his head, bringing him little to no comfort. Watching you sleep fondly was at least soothing him, a little smile forming on his lips at the picture before him.
Your head was resting on three pillows, while your hands were holding tightly a fourth pillow. His pillow. Diluc pouted at that. How many pillows do you need to fall asleep, he wondered.
Your eyes were shut peacefully, your mouth slightly agape, letting little snores slip from it. For a thief, you were indeed quite cute, he thought.
But even now, it seems that all the pillows weren’t enough for your slumber, when your hand unconsciously reaches for Diluc's shirt. His figure, apparently not close enough to your own body. Making Diluc chuckles quietly at your cuteness for the umpteenth time today. His own hand finding its way to the top of your head, threading his fingers through your hair to caress it gently for a moment. His calloused hand then decided to run lightly on your cheekbones, his thumb finishing the loving caress by cuddling your cheeks affectionately.
Your lover could almost fall asleep like this. Lulled by your little sleepy sounds, and the feeling of your soft skin under his dancing fingers.
Almost. If only his neck wasn’t bent in half, under his arm for several minutes now.
Fortunately Diluc was resourceful. If he couldn’t have his pillows then he would find something else to sleep on. Luckily, someone highly enticing was laying just in front of him. He just had to remove the pillow in between your arms, throwing it at the same time to the other side of the room, to take place in between your arms. His head relaxing on your chest, he couldn’t deny the fact that you were indeed even more comfortable than the pillows. He let out a little sigh at the warmth embracing his whole body, making him hold you tighter with his arms caging you in, wanting you as close to him as he could.
“You are crushing me right now”, came your voice heavy with sleep, not without a little chuckle from your part at the sight of your husband attached to you and without any intention of letting go. Diluc being too comfortable on his newly found pillow was a sight to behold, his broad back was covering most of your form while his loosen bright red hair cascaded on his side. You couldn't resist stroking his head lovingly, almost making him purr from the oh so pleasant sensation you were gifting him with your fingers.
Diluc was quick to answer, “A certain someone apparently stole all the pillows from me, thus I had no better choice than to find a better one, little thief.” While his hand found its way under your shirt, drawing random little shapes on your side playfully, “I don’t regret my choice though, it seems that this pillow is warmer, cozier and mainly…more exquisite I would dare to say”, your partner finishes with a kiss on your collarbones.
“I'm happy to be of use then”, you joked at him while still combing through his wild mass of hair, looking at him with a bright smile.
Diluc put all his weight on his arms to get eye-level with you, returning to his usual serious self for a second, “I always think that I can’t be more enamored with you than I am at the moment, still, each time I share a split second with you, I can not be more wrong”.
With that, you can’t find any words to match the passion from Diluc’s words, your eyes watering at the expanse of his love for you, that you can only return with a kiss, one mimicking the same fervor as his, your tongues dancing with each other for a short moment, but long enough to replicate your shared feelings.
With a last peck on your lips, Diluc returns to his previous position, his head on your chest with his hands under your shirt to let his fingers glide across your warm skin, while your own are lacing through his hair. A shared soothing moment, relishing the presence of the other, that soon changes to a deep slumber in a loving embrace.
#diluc x reader#diluc x you#diluc x y/n#genshin impact x reader#genshin fluff#genshin x reader#genshin impact fluff#diluc imagines#genshin diluc#diluc fluff#genshin#genshin impact#diluc ragnvindr#genshin x you#genshin x y/n#genshin impact imagines#genshin fanfic#genshin impact reader fluff#fluff#diluc#genshin impact diluc#diluc ragnivindr x you#diluc ragnivindr x reader#diluc ragnivindr fluff
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Sauna | nico hischier
summary: a little dose of a cabin vacation with nico and his girl
warnings: smut (18+), breast-worship, boobjob, nico being obsessed with reader's tits, swearing
wc: 2.4k+ (holy balls)
a/n: ngl i felt naughty writing this. this might, arguably, be my fav smut ive written thus far.
Sunlight beamed through the flowing curtains in your and Nico’s room. You stirred slightly, the light waking you from your deep slumber. Taking a moment to fully comprehend your surroundings, you roll over, expecting Nico to be lying in his usual spot beside you. Upon feeling the cold, empty sheets, you peek one eyelid open. His phone was missing from the nightstand, along with his running shoes that typically find home by the closet door. You dig your head deeper into the soft pillow, more at ease now that you know Nico must have gone for an afternoon run.
His scent still lingered on his pillow, bringing comfort to your senses. Your breath slowly evens back out, slipping back into your sleepy state. It wasn’t long before you were awoken once more, this time to the sound of the front door closing. Still too tired to react, you remained cuddled into Nico’s pillow. Nico, on the other hand, was less stoic. His chest heaved as he tried to regain his breath from the run. Sweat glistened on his toned skin, as he pulled the bottom of his shirt up slightly to wipe his face.
The water bottle on the counter served as a solace to his worn body. After chugging down the cold liquid, he placed the bottle in the sink, remembering to rinse it out. He began to walk back to your bedroom, tugging off the sticky shirt that clung uncomfortably to his body. He threw the shirt into the laundry hamper, thankful that your rented cabin came with a washer and dryer. A soft smile made its way onto Nico’s face as he saw you clutching onto his pillow. He quietly walked over to you, unaware that you were awake. You felt the bed dip beside your head, as he bent down to place a sweet kiss on your forehead.
“I love you, schatzi.”
You waited until he moved from the bed to peel your eyes open. With the sun almost completely set, the light didn’t give your eyes a hard time adjusting to the room this time around. Nico’s firm back muscles contracted as you watched him get ready to take a shower. You admired the way his body moved, the ripples in his semi-sweaty skin. It made your thighs clench together as a familiar heat crept its way over your body.
“I can feel you watching me.” Nico echoed over his shoulder. You sat up in surprise, furrowing your brows in confusion.
“Wha- How? I was pretending to be asleep.”
Nico chuckled before turning to walk back over to where you had your legs draped over the side of the bed.
“You’re not as sly as you think you are, schatzi. You were literally smiling when I came over to kiss you.” He placed his warm, calloused hands on your soft thighs, gently caressing the skin underneath. Nico tilted his head as he looked down at you, “Did you have a good nap? You slept for a while.”
You leaned your head into his bare chest, nodding at his question.
“Mhm. Although it would have been better if my boyfriend was beside me when I woke up.”
Nico moved his hands to cradle your face, “I told you before we even layed down that I was going for a run.” He kissed your nose, causing you to scrunch it slightly, “It’s not my fault you decided not to listen.”
You rolled your eyes in return, shoving his body away playfully. “Well, sorry for loving you and wanting to be around you.”
His head leaned back with laughter. He grabbed your arms, circling them around his waist as he walked in between your thighs. “I know, it’s a hard life you live, baby.” He mocked with fake sympathy.
A deep sigh left your lips at his teasing, “Whatever, Hischier.”
He pouted at your scowl, “Aww, don’t do that face. You know I hate it when you do that face.” His hands began to lightly jab into your sides, tickling you in the process. You tried your best to act mad, but the bubbling laughter escaped anyway.
"S-stop!” You tried your best to refute his attempts but to no avail. “Oh no. Not until you say sorry for calling me Hischier. That is not my name to you, liebling.”
You shook your head violently, refusing to give in to him. “Over my dead body, Hischier.” Nico abruptly halted his attack on your body, opting to grab your wrists and pin them above your head. With you now under him, he leaned over your soft figure. His face was so close to yours that you feel each small breath leave his lips.
“Are you sure you want to go down this road, baby? I wouldn’t advise it.” His loose threat fell on deaf ears as all you could focus on was the way his body pressed deliciously into your own. Nico wasn’t oblivious to the way you reacted to him, he easily picked up on the way your breath hitched and your thighs clenched around his waist.
Still choosing to challenge him, you shoved your chest further into his, “Try me.”
The Swiss boy’s resolve snapped as he crashed his lips feverishly into your own. Your arms remained pinned above your head as your nails dug into Nico’s hands. The kiss was hot and desperate, filled with equal need between the two of you.
Nico began to trail his lips down your jaw, no doubt leaving red marks to find later. He traced his tongue down the column of your throat, stopping just as he got to the base, focusing on the spot just above where your “13” necklace lay.
Fuck, did he love that dainty chain. It was a way to show everyone that you were his. Only his.
Lifting his head, he brought his bruised lips back to your swollen ones, placing a much softer kiss on them. He chuckled as you attempted to chase his lips when he pulled away.
Your chest heaved as Nico brought your wrists back down, rubbing soothing circles into them, finishing with placing a kiss to each. “Neeks,” You croaked, “Why’d you stop?”
Nico flashed his dimples sweetly at you, “Because I think it’s time to get in the hot tub.” With that, his warm body left yours, quickly making work to change and walk out to the balcony of your room. You remained on the bed, regaining your composure before also changing and joining Nico in the hot tub.
Nico watched as you walked out of the door, drinking in your bathing suit and thrown up hair. As you turned back from sliding the door closed, you noticed Nico’s dark eyes bore over your body. You couldn’t help but get shy. You quickened your pace to the tub, carefully climbing in with the hockey player’s assistance. You sat across from him, draping your legs into his lap as you sunk lower into the hot water.
Nico’s hands came to rub tight patterns into your feet, “Feel good, schatzi?”
You nodded eagerly, closing your eyes to relish in the bliss.
You and Nico partook in light conversation, before ultimately deciding to move to the sauna next to the hot tub. Now, the sauna wasn’t very big, with just enough space to fit 2-3 people max. Once Nico had helped you out and down the tub’s stairs, he led you into the already-preheated wooden structure.
“Planning to get me in here, Hisch? Wanna get me all sweaty, huh?” You sent him a coy smile. He rolled his eyes with a slight grin.
“Again with that name. You know, baby,” He backed you slowly until your legs hit the warm wood bench behind you, “I can think of other ways to help us work up a sweat other than this sauna.” His eyes swept down your figure once more, licking his lips. His gaze was almost primal.
He gripped your hips, switching positions with you, enticing a gasp from you. You grabbed onto his biceps for support, looking into his deep brown eyes. “You gonna show me, or what?”
A wicked smile formed on Nico’s face. He sat down, pulling your weight to straddle his lap. Your skin already easily sticking to his as the heat began to affect you both. You brought your hands to tug into his shaggy hair.
Nico’s lips began to attack your neck, making sure to pay extra attention to the spots he left earlier. His hands traveled up the expanse of your back, moving to untie your top. Thankful to be rid of the uncomfortable material, you threw it to the side as your breasts were displayed in full view.
“Oh, fuck.” Nico mumbled. The feeling of his hardening cock pressed into your clothed core. He brought one hand to your left breast, tweaking your nipple into a peak. Lowering his head, he took the bud in his mouth, swirling his tongue in skilled circles. His other hand came to cup your other tit firmly.
“Neeks,” You whined loudly. Your eyes screwed shut as pleasure shot through your body. Unable to hold back, you began rocking your hips into Nico’s, causing a low groan to escape his occupied mouth. The vibrations on your nipple created jolts of fire straight to your aching cunt.
He switched his attention to your other painfully peaked nipple, taking it gratefully in his mouth. “Such pretty tits, schatzi,” He muttered into your boob, “All f’me.”
A pathetic moan echoed from your lips as you threw your head back. The feeling of Nico’s throbbing cock made you drool. Nico lifted from your breasts, moving back to your lips. It was messy, filled with need and clashing teeth. He swallowed the whimper that left your lips as your sensitive nipples brushed against his chest.
You began to squirm, wanting something more, wanting to help the tightness in Nico’s shorts. “Neeks,” You mumbled into his lips, “Wanna make you feel good.”
He pulled away, breathless from your make-out. His spit-covered lips were red and swollen as his chest rapidly rose and fell.
“Yeah?” Nico cocked his head to the side, “Ya wanna make me cum, beautiful?”
You let out a desperate noise, nodding embarrassingly fast, but you didn’t care. Not in that moment, not when Nico looks so fucking good covered in sweat and your spit coating his lips.
“Alright, schatzi, get on your knees f’me.” You obliged immediately, placing your hands on his knees. You peered up at him through your lashes, ready to please him in any way he wanted.
Nico struggled to create a coherent thought at the sight of you on your knees with your tits rubbing against his legs. He swallowed harshly, trying not to bust in his shorts before you’ve even touched him.
“I want you to squeeze those gorgeous tits together, kay?”
You didn’t reply, only removing your hands from his knees to push your plushy breasts tightly together. Nico almost whined at the amount of cleavage you had, wanting nothing more than to bury his twitching cock between them.
“Holy, fuck me.” He cursed, “So pretty, baby. I need you to scoot a bit closer to me, right in my legs.” Nico patted his lap as he spread his legs to accommodate your body. He pulled his shorts down until his cock popped up tall and proud against his bare abdomen. It was visibly red and leaking precum as Nico spit in his hand a slowly pumped himself.
He shuddered in his grasp, aching to be in your breasts. At this point, you had caught on to what Nico wanted as his hungry gaze never left your cleavage. You thanked the gods silently that you were in a steaming sauna, your sweat mixed with Nico’s precum and spit serving as a lubricant.
As soon as you lowered your tits onto his cock, Nico was gone. His head hit the back of the wooden wall, eyes clenched shut. You began to move up and down, letting a trail of spit leave your mouth and drop onto his swollen tip. With the extra slick, you squeezed harder, quicking your pace.
A loud moan left Nico’s lips as his hips began to buck up into you. “Shit, baby. So good, f’me.” He let out another guttural moan, “That’s it, just like that. Always know how to make me feel good.”
Encouraged by the praise, you tilted your head down, letting his tip dip into your mouth with every upward thrust. With the added suction, Nico knew he wasn’t gonna last long. His hips lifted off of the bench as he desperately fucked your tits.
“Fuck, don’t stop, schatzi,” He panted, “I’m so close. Gonna let me cum all over those pretty tits like the good girl you are, right?”
You bit your lip at the sight of his fucked out face on the edge of his climax. “Mhm, cum for me, Neeks. I want you to cum for me.” You rasped. The burning sensation in your arms increased, but the look on Nico’s face was worth it. His muscles contracted as his body began to converse. Thick ropes of cum shot from his cock, coating your breasts and lower face. His head was thrown back, his adam’s apple bobbing violently as he came.
His hands gripped the bench, veins popping deliciously, making you want to trace them with your tongue. You continued to slowly pump his shaft until every drop of cum was milked from the tip. Nico hissed as overstimulation began to set in. You gently released your breasts, his softening cock falling out.
Nico sat for a moment with his eyes closed, catching his breath.
“You’re so amazing to me. You have no idea” He finally broke the silence. You chuckled slightly, not moving much due to the cum still dripping from your face and breasts. Nico readjusted his shorts, pulling them back on. “I’m gonna go grab a towel to clean you up, baby. Stay here.”
You shook your head, “Right, like I’m gonna go anywhere with your cum covering my body.” You remarked.
Once Nico came back with a warm, damp towel, he gently wiped down your body. The brunette placed a sweet kiss on your lips, showing his love for you. He picked up your bathing suit top, handing it to you. As you began to put the ties back around your back, his hand came up to stop you.
“I wouldn’t bother, schatzi. We aren’t done yet.” He nipped at your neck once more, “It’s your turn now.”
#nico hischier x reader#nico hischier imagine#nico hischier#nico hischier smut#nico hischier blurb#njd x reader#njd#new jersey devils#leawrites💋
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WHO... IS BUYING NEW CLOTHES.... MORE THAN ONCE A YEAR....... WHO ??????
#like. this is entirly a conceot introduced to me by my roommate. my mother got maybe a single new dress or top a month#fashion and thus fast fashion makes no sense to me. i am going to buy a piece of clothing and then i am going to wear it until it is#physically indecent for me to wear in public and then i am going to mend the crotch (generally) and keep wearing it casually or as pajamas.#people who can afford to and do buy clothes more often than once or twice a year arem bizarre to me.#why. why do you need to do that. if you have clothes that fit and cover your body in a way that you are comfortable with. why...#okay okay actually i buy socks maybe 5 times a year because i LOSE THEM SO FAST ITS INSANE I FEEL DERANGED#any way. im watching a video abt fast fashion#any apparently people legitimately buy a dress to wear like. once.#insane to me.#and the only reason i buy clothes new is because shopping overwhlems me to such a degree if i try one more than like 2 pairs of clothes#i will have to leave the store with nothing. it is TOO MUCH sensory input.#so trying to buy second hand clothing is. as one may imagine as a fat man with one belt. pretty difficult.#its just so BIZARRE TO ME........... WHY. IM SO CONFUSED AND BAFFLED. LIKE. THERE IS NO NEED............#the most i think about buying new clothes is i want to get some modest linen summer wear. GOOD LUCK W THAT THO.#me: okay maybe I'll just figurenout how to make it okay show me linen#fabric store: 3 different cotton blends marked as linen#me: LINEN.#online only store: actual linen that to buy the amount i would need to make a full outfit and dressing gown for mysekf would run like 90$#me: .....NVM I DONT NEED CLOTHES NUDITY IS STILL IN.
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you know jing yuan has been watching you since you emerged from the bathroom.
he lays in the bed, eyes blissfully closed whenever you sneak a glimpse—the covers are haphazardly tossed over his body and he gives a perfectly sound impression of himself dozing away in the dimmed light of the hotel room, but you know better.
you can feel his gaze on you every time you look away; have felt it since you’d stepped out in a bathrobe and turned your back on him to put on your clothes. you’d have thought that he’d jump at the chance to zip up the minidress you’d chosen; apparently, whatever intent he has with his faux sleep outweighs his typical enthusiasm to put his hands on your body.
(you emphasize your struggle anyway, pouting and sighing and all but audibly lamenting how oh, you wish your handsome boyfriend were awake, his hands are so much more skilled and steady, to no avail)
those eyes are still closed when you turn to make your way towards the vanity. you’d splurged on the hotel room, admittedly eager to show your lover the best your home system has to offer, though he’d probably name the bed as his favorite part.
jing yuan’s eyes had lit up when he’d first seen it—a large cupped thing like a bowl, lined with plush cushion and plenty spacious enough to comfortably fit five people. it’s built out into a bubble window on one side of the bedroom and the vanity you currently sit at is placed opposite, thus a perfect vantage point for him to observe you as you pull your stockings up your legs and then set about doing your makeup—which, as you apply a final choice of lipgloss, is now complete. with a quick glance to the clock ensuring you and he still have half an hour before you need to leave, you stand and turn to look at him.
while he relaxes his face and keeps his eyes stubbornly shut, it’s no coincidence that he turns over with your motion. it pulls the covers mostly off his body, ruffles his hair. the sigh he lets out is content, not sounding tired in the slightest. you huff a laugh.
he shifts again. the sheet falls further—almost nothing covers him now, little more than a strip of cotton across one upper thigh that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination with how wide his legs have been spread.
you approach the bed fully, padding over with stocking-covered feet on the carpeted floor until you stand right behind him. reaching out, you brush his bangs up out of his eyes and over his forehead, bending over at the same time to look over his lounging form.
“i know what you’re doing,” you say sternly, though you’re gentle as your fingertips caress him. “it won’t work.”
“won’t it?” jing yuan’s voice isn’t even laced with sleep; it’s perfectly alert, teasing, as he tilts his head back to give you more access.
you press a sticky kiss to his forehead. it leaves a shimmering mark of your lip gloss, tinted a faint pink. “you don’t have to come. you’re more than welcome to stay behind if you want.”
“we could remain here for a night in,” he counters. “this bed is… a marvel.”
his words have you giggling lightly. this time you kiss the mole just beneath his closed eye, drawing a heavy, pleased sigh from the elegant curve of his lips. your hand cradles his cheek, thumb reaching out to trace his cupid’s bow.
“tempting as that may be, we have a very limited amount of time on this trip. i’m not giving up on the only night i’ll be able to spend time with my friends like this.”
his hand, large and calloused and warm, reaches up to stop yours from pulling away. he turns into your touch, nuzzling at your palm with a petulantly grumbling noise. still, when his rough fingers move to lace with yours, you slip from his grasp and step away.
“i’m going with or without you, jing yuan,” you declare. “but if you’d like to come, you need to get ready now.”
“how very demanding. i must say, i thought i had successfully evaded orders when i took leave…” now he yawns and makes a show of stretching. you watch him shift, all lethargic grace, every motion meticulously planned—thighs tensing, stomach twitching, arms bulging. a display for you, a last-ditch effort to seduce you back into bed.
you snicker. it won’t work, but you’re hardly inclined to complain. it’s a pretty sight to see regardless; all that honed muscle working beneath porcelain skin, those scattered moles and full brush of stark white hair only emphasizing each sinewy movement. you’re drawn nearer once more, inclined to get a better look—that’s your mistake.
above all else your lover is a cunning man. it’s a miracle he put that mind to use for good, because he utilizes it for far more sinister things when it comes to you. beckoning you closer, setting up the trap, baiting it with his own body; your legs meet the edge of the bed and, though he’s still only halfway onto his stomach, a big hand darts out to catch behind your knee, so fast you don’t realize what’s happened until he’s dragging you towards him with inescapable strength.
your shin drags over the bed’s lowered entrance. the sheer speed of it all has you stumbling, only just managing to catch yourself with a hand on the raised side.
jing yuan lets out a disappointed little grunt. his touch is gentle, coaxing, as he attempts to pull your leg even closer. when that proves futile he eases himself towards you and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. tilting his head up, he fixes you with a heavy-lidded look, those striking golden eyes glinting beneath long, pretty lashes.
“are you certain i cannot convince you to stay?”
“yes,” you answer without hesitation, entirely unmoved by his responding whine. you remain stoic, too, when he drags your lower leg into the bed and begins to kiss down the side of your calf, lips searing, lingering longer and longer with each press to your stocking-covered skin. upon reaching your ankle he gives far too much attention there; free hand reaching around to grab hold of your foot and maneuver it to let him pepper nipping kisses along the top.
with your face growing hot and your leg squirming beneath his attention, you forget entirely about his other hand—until it pinches at the thin fabric behind your knee and tugs, fast and hard. the mesh rips with ease, a run tearing down the length of your calf. you yelp, attempting to pull back but stopped by the immovable grip he has on you. he sinks his teeth into the back of your ankle just enough that you’re certain it’ll leave a mark, but when he pulls away it’s obvious what his true intent was.
this time the rip is loud, fabric caught between his canines and giving way like tissue paper. you stumble back and yelp out a protest; his grip becomes solid, tugs you back to him so strongly that you lose your footing and spill into the soft drum beyond. he’s atop you instantly, caging you in with a thick arm on either side of your head.
“jing yuan!” your wail is swallowed by a kiss, but even as his tongue delves into the hot cavern of your mouth it cannot distract from the tattered remains of your stockings. you lift your knee to brace it against his chest; there’s a loud, wet sound as he finally pulls away from your mouth and buries his face into your neck.
“stay,” he groans out between each searing, open-mouthed suck at your skin. “let me hoard you, let me keep you to myself—”
“i thought that was my job?” your words catch and come out breathy as he trails lower, running a hand down the side of your body and then shamelessly shoving it up the hem of your dress—which has, admittedly, ridden up indecently high. still, you do your best to continue. “stealing you away from your responsibilities on the luofu.”
“a dual effort, then. we must be made for each other, my dear.”
his grip on your thigh is almost painful. he nuzzles at the other, reverent, eyes clouded over when they dare to flit up to meet yours. when his tongue pokes out from between plush lips, wetting them and then retreating, you realize the intent seconds before he bows his head.
you’re faster. your hand flies to his hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking back just before he manages to burrow beneath your skirt. for half a moment the pair of you remain there, frozen—his lips halfway parted, your chest heaving with pants. you blink. then you slowly ease your legs from beneath his torso.
“i told you,” you say, tightening your grip until his eyes flutter and he lets out an obscene, unabashed groan, “it won’t work. you can wait until after we come home.”
you’re precise as you peel yourself away; you keep your spare hand free to swat at any further attempts to pin you, slide your body out from beneath him until you can perch up upon the bed’s entrance and catch your breath as you stare down at him.
jing yuan props his head in his hand and returns your look. you click your tongue, but it’s impossible to fight back the affection in your tone. “scoundrel.”
his lips twitch. “so they say.”
“it’s deserved.”
“i can hardly deny it. i only wish you put up less of a fight.”
“no you don’t.”
“no,” he concedes, “i don’t.”
finally you turn and stand. the feeling of the carpet beneath your bare foot reminds you that you need to change your stockings—you frown as you glance at tattered remains of fabric on your leg.
“bastard,” you hiss out, far more venomous than the previous accusation. your suitcase lies closed upon the dresser; you approach it to dig through for your spare.
behind you, still, you hear no sound of motion. you sigh loudly, dropping the ball of socks in your hand and turning your head just barely to give jing yuan a lidded look where he’s draped himself over the side of the bed, arms crossed and biceps bulging as he watches you. never one to give up; a stubborn, bullheaded man who would chase you to the farthest reaches of the universe for a single kiss, only spurred onward by your fleeing.
perhaps you’ll throw him a bone.
“if you’re fast enough,” you begin sweetly, “i’ll let you help me into this new pair.”
he’s up instantly, darting for the bundle of clothes you’d set out for him before you’d even showered with a speed rarely seen outside of the battlefield. the offer will make you late, surely, and quite possibly cost you your second pair of stockings—you’re well aware his mind is running wild with schemes to bury his head between your thighs and glut himself on his well-earned prize in whatever fleeting time you might give him before finally shoving him away.
but what kind of leisure trip would it be if you didn’t give in to his whims?
#jing yuan x reader#hsr x reader#mine.🌧#char.🌧 jing yuan#heavily selfship coded but not the elaborate lore building stuff just yet....... eventually tho. probably
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he said something hurtful
characters: childe & zhongli
genre: hurt and comfort
wc: 1.4k
Childe
it’s been such a stressful day for the eleventh fatui harbinger. all these paperwork but no place to let out his pent up frustration to; battles. he’s been stuck to the duty for too many days now and when he said it was not going to get to him, perhaps that was overconfidence.
“here, i made you tea hope it helps you to relax a little,” you said as you put the glass on his desk at a reasonable distance away from his work. he hummed a lazy response as gratitude. you’d learnt not to take these gestures to heart since he’s palpably stressed and you all of people knew that childe is the most loving man you’ve ever been with. “anything else i can do for you?” you asked, genuinely wanted to assist him in any way you could. he just shook his head, “it’s fine,” he said curtly.
“massages? back rubs? need me to get anything from somewhere?” you tried again, seeing his not so good expression at a particular part of the paper he’s looking at, wanting to at least ease him a little.
“gods, (y/n),” he said with the most exasperated tone that it made you a little nervous. “can you be quiet for a second? what the hell do you think you can do for me?”
you gasped quietly at the outburst and childe regretted the words as soon as it came out from his mouth. “(y/n), baby i’m sorry i didn’t mean th-“ but you quickly cut him off, wanting to get out of the room as soon you can. “i’ll just leave,” you whimpered, voice clearly holding back tears. at this childe’s heart twinged with even more guilt, he swiftly chased you and brought you close to his chest. “i’m sorry, that was stupid and horrible of me, sorry (y/n),” he repeated the apologies as he rubbed circles on your back. you held back a sob yet to no avail tears still fell to his shoulder. “i just wanted to help,” you mumbled. “i know and you do, my baby always does the best things for me,” he kept you in his hold as he planted kisses on your forehead. “i always worry over you, childe. if i bother you i wish you could’ve just tell me nicely.”
“i’m sorry, i took out my frustration on you, ‘m sorry baby. won’t happen again, i promise. please don’t leave.” childe’s hold on you got tighter, he wished he could turn back time and hit his past-self for running his mouth like that when you’ve been nothing but kind to him. he brought your face close to his, wiping your tears with his thumbs. you looked at him, the apparent raw regret painted all over his face. “stay? please?”
“mhm, but none of that again, okay? ever,” you warned him. “promise. sorry again, you’re too good to me.” he continued embracing you.
Zhongli
you had promised zhongli to assist him with his work, he asked you to bring over a document from clerk zhao 9 a.m. sharp as it is was a very important task to do. he told you that a few days prior about it saying that he would have no time to do it himself thus asking for your help since there’s nobody in the world he trusted more than you. and of course you were more than happy to do it if it helped him even just a little.
the said day was approaching. you felt that your body was slightly sluggish the night before as you prepared to go to bed yet you thought nothing of it and assumed would get better if you just slept it off, but you were wrong. you woke up feeling extremely sick along with a terrible headache. but that wasn’t your biggest concern, you looked over the clock and its hour hands clearly showed: 9.30 a.m.
with your best ability at your current condition—which was very limited, you quickly forced yourself up and rushed to do the task zhongli has entrusted you in. you were struggling as you arrive at feiyun slope area that even clerk zhao showed concern and asked if you were okay which to you answer that you were just fine, when in fact you were clearly not. yet your bigger worry that minute was getting that document to zhongli as he said that it’s a very important matter and you must not be late. however with such a sick body, you arrived at the wangsheng funeral parlor a little over ten a.m.
you burst open his office, “zhongli, i’m so sor-“
“where were you?” he cut you off rather rudely, and he does not do that. “sorry, i-“ you tried again.
“i had told you that this is a very important matter, yet here you are being carelessly tardy.” his usual gentle tone was nowhere to be found, you found yourself in a very bad state, it took everything out of you to just even stand up right that second and he couldn’t see that. even clerk zhao immediately noticed it. you were not even going to make excuse, you just wanted him to listen. “zhongli, please listen-“
“this was such a mistake. i regret relying on you.” he swiftly took the paper on your hand, his back turned and faced you as he sort out his business on his desk. it wasn’t until he heard a sniffle that he had realized what he just said. mistake. regret.
“dear, i-“
you were already started to leave his office, one of your hand was on the wall supporting your own weight as you felt extremely weak and fatigued from all the running around a sick person should not be doing.
“(y/n), wait please i—you’re very warm!” he claimed loudly as his hand touched your arm. “sweetheart, do you have a fever?” he reached out a hand to feel your forehead but you swatted it away. “it’s nothing, just get back to your work.” you attempted to release yourself, but zhongli had another idea on mind as the former god of rock suddenly carried you to a room where there’s a bed as he lied you there and tucked you in a blanket. you who barely any strength just let him did whatever as you turned your back on him the moment your body touched the bed. the wound from his words still fresh on your mind as you cried. you knew that it was your fault that you’re late, however zhongli acted way out of line. his tone and harsh words were very unfamiliar to you.
zhongli looked at your back as he was eaten away by guilt. if only he could just listen. to think he was very adamant to not listen to you when all you wanted to do was to explain yourself and he said that crap instead which he didn’t mean at all.
he truly meant it when he said he would entrust even his life to you.
zhongli was late on realizing the severe damage he just caused over the harsh words he spouted in the heat of the moment. whatever the reason, he should have not done that, not to anyone, especially not to the love of his life. but in reality was he did.
“love, i apologize.” he knelt beside the bed. when that met no response he continued, “that was very foolish of me. i didn’t know what i was talking about. you’re my whole world, i rely on you the most. how very stupid that i could even have the nerve to say that when i do nothing but lean on you everyday in my life.” his voice heavy with remorse as he hesitantly rubbed your arm, trying to soothe you. “to think i just made my sick lover running around like that... i apologize.”
“i wasn’t trying to make excuses, zhongli. i did not choose to be sick.” your voice was meek, zhongli’s chest squeezed in pain, how could he make you say things like this. “of course not, even with your condition you still did your best for me and i reacted like that, i really deserve your anger.”
he saw that tears still ran across your face and it broke his heart. “dear, please, what i don’t deserve is your tears.” he gently turned you to face him, wiping your tears with his fingertip. you slowly stopped crying as zhongli kept whispering apologies and sweet words. “why don’t you get some rest first? we’ll talk again after you feel better,” zhongli said softly. you who had no complaint over that only nodded, getting the sleep you’ve desperately needed.
seconds before you fell into your slumber you could feel a kiss on your forehead. “(y/n), i love you very much.”
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin scenarios#genshin fanfic#genshin x you#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin fluff#genshin angst#childe x reader#tartaglia x y/n#tartaglia x you#tartaglia x reader#genshin childe#zhongli x reader#zhongli fluff#childe angst#zhongli angst
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Malebolge
Yandere/Dark Morax x Reader
WORDS: 18.2k
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And thus, here it is.
Important note that I'm largely basing this on [[this post]] I made ages ago about a conquered and captive goddess!darling during the war era because 1) it has never left the back of my mind since making that post, 2) I have watched way too many of those Chinese historical palace dramas where they're essentially confined to the palace and I find that very hot and 3) utterly brutal war era Morax >>>>>>>
Warnings/Notes: DARK CONTENT, fem reader, noncon/rape, captivity, rough sex/pain/more or less physical abuse, moderate but not full-on asphyxiation, draconic features (namely claw-like nails, horns, and most importantly dual reptile dick because I am both incredibly degenerate and greatly appreciate that this seems to be a not uncommon HC so I know I'm not alone), double penetration (vaginal/anal), degradation, forced cultural assimilation, brief mentions of death scare/past death scare, Xiao is there for like .008 seconds with no dialogue
Also I have learned more about lizard mating in the past week than any human should ever have any business knowing so if you want lizard seggs info I now know way too much of it
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Malebolge (n.) ( /mælˈboʊldʒ/):
The Dantean 8th Circle of Hell. An inescapable cavern.
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You winced at the slightest of shifting, the unconscious action creating a sting that stirred you from a deep slumber.
In the half-awake state, you grunted as you shifted again, this time rolling more onto your side, but the soreness merely shifted with you.
There was no position in which you could be comfortable. No matter what way you lay down, there was pain. Stinging pain, aching pain, throbbing pain, a multitude of acute points of pain dotted all over your body. As it always did, the painful sensation began to pull your mind into the waking world.
Your back and hips were scratched. That was the stinging pain. Marks where claws had gripped into your flesh, leaving inflamed, reddish lines over your flesh.
Your thighs and sides where bruised from crushing grip. If you lay on your stomach, your chafed and swollen nipples would sting even at the lightest contact with the sheets, and the position would only intensify the perpetual dull, throbbing ache inside of your body, internal bruises and the muscles of your orifices pulled and stretched and rubbed raw to the point they never ceased to ache.
It was nothing compared to moving, to the deep ache in each limb with the slightest of exertion, but even at rest, with no movement at all, a dull, throbbing ache pulsated across your body.
It wasn't the physical pain itself, though, that was unbearable. Pain was part of life. Pain was something every entity that lived long enough was all too familiar with — for deities like yourself that lived often longer than they could even recall, life was full of quite a great deal of pain.
What you hated about the pain, rather, was the way it always triggered a deep swell of bitterness and anger in your chest and stomach. What it meant. That it brought on a surge of emotions and thoughts far more unbearable than the soreness itself.
"Mm—?!"
You inhaled a sharp breath as pressure pushed against your stomach, a force that pulled you backwards across the sheets. Your back pressed into a soft warmth — not without sending a shooting pain across the surface along your spine, where the muscles had been pulled to the point of soreness from strain, a sore internal ache of your sphincter from stretch and wear, and a sharper sting against the irritated, raw flesh of your backside and the backs of your thighs.
The arm locked tightly onto your body, upper arm crossing over your stomach, forearm turned and pressed against your chest, all keeping you in your place. You could feel a gentle, slow rise and fall of the chest pressed to your back, bare skin on bare skin, without any layers of clothing separating your bodies.
Your eyelids just barely parted, only to squeeze shut once more at the morning light shining directly into your eyes. A small ray of light, given how small the tiny, high-up, barred window was, but it managed to be ever so inconveniently placed right at your frame of vision. You grunted at the burn, but it served to pull your consciousness out of the haze of drowsiness and into full alertness. There was no telling exactly what time it was, but the sun was up enough that you would likely be getting up very soon anyway. Those attendants — some of them devout human servants, some subjugated higher beings — always came by at a consistent time each morning to bring food and water, which often was your wake-up call each day.
You closed your eyes once more, trying to ignore the stinging and throbbing that ran all across your body, hoping to maybe get a few more minutes of sleep.
You shifted slightly to alleviate awkward positioning, rolling further onto your side, only to grimace as the shifting of your pelvis reignited a soreness, a dull ache not on the outside flesh, but a deep internal bruising. Your body jolted and stiffened, toes curling and face contorting with the pain.
But as you began to relax your muscles again, as the pain ebbed away, your brief jolting seemed to have awakened your bedmate, feeling a stirring and shifting behind you, the arm around you shifting in its position. The movement caused you to roll onto your back. Your eyes slowly opened again, and a soft noise escaped your throat.
You went still, thinking that it was a momentary unconscious reaction, but after a moment, the bedsheets shifted again as Morax moved, slightly propping himself up on one elbow, high enough of a point to look over to your face from above. Perhaps you could have closed your eyes and feigned sleep, had you thought to do so, but your instinctive reaction was to turn your head and raise your gaze up to that which looked down at you.
You were given a soft smile.
"Did you sleep well?"
The question, although you sensed genuine well-intent in it, was biting, almost mocking. You felt your jaw clench and irritation rise in your chest, fighting back the urge to become immediately spiteful.
As always, you had had trouble falling asleep, waking up multiple times in the night. The throbbing kept you from drifting off, and you hadn't been allowed to get up and wipe yourself clean of the slime sensation of fluids leaking out between your legs, thus forcing you to deal with the unpleasant, icky feeling all night — which now persisted as an equally unpleasant dried substance tacked on your inner thighs. Even after you'd fallen asleep, the slightest of movements in your sleep would jolt you awake with soreness. The same routine you underwent each and every night.
And yet—
"Yes..."
—was the word you forced out of your mouth, equally forcing the corners of your mouth upward, albeit weakly.
"Mm." He lowered himself back down, gently extending the arm that had been around you once more, turning you to face him and pulling you closer. A soft sound came out of your throat, but you made no effort to pull away. Your face came to rest against the god's chest, forehead brushing up against his collarbones.
"There's no need to rise just yet," he continued, stroking a hand up and down your back — not without running over sore spots, but only lightly. "You should rest a while longer. You're undoubtedly worn out."
Once more, you had to bite your tongue to prevent saying something you shouldn't in response to the implication of the words and the vague feeling of degradation it carried.
The touch of bare flesh to bare flesh was an electrifying sort of feeling. Whether or not it was so in a positive or negative sense was, of course, dependent on the circumstances, but even if you could forget or disregard all of the circumstances you yourself were under, just the mere sensation consumed your sense of feeling. Touches from another person lingered in a way that touching objects or the feeling of one's clothes on their body did not. The brushing of another person's skin up against vulnerable areas usually kept covered would maintain a lasting feeling of awareness of that touch, lingering for a while thereafter.
And, of course, that touch of bare skin carried with it a sense of shame. A sort of subtle reminder. Of course, that was not even really the intention, seeing as you naturally fell asleep this way, but you were certain he knew the feeling it invoked in you, and even more certain that he found your embarrassment satisfying. Even now, you swore you heard a sort of heavy exhale in amusement as you stiffened when your bare abdomen pressed against his. You suppressed a shiver as your sore, inflamed nipples brushed against his skin, but couldn't help the grimace of your face. You tried to close your eyes, thinking perhaps you could sleep again.
But then, you stiffened further as he ran his hand down your back once more. Your shoulders bunched up, your breath hitched.
The motion was so gentle. Fingers barely brushing over your skin.
Nonetheless, those same soft, gentle touches of his fingers running down your back ignited a residual, burning pain. After a moment, he transitioned to using a finger to trace over scabbed scratches running down your back, as if it were a pattern. The hand trailed lower, softly meeting your hip, causing you to jolt as it bumped onto a bruise.
It then came down further still, to grasp at the fleshy, soft curve of your ass. Just the mere contact to the spot stung. The flesh was raw and sensitive to every little touch. Even the sheets brushing against the flesh sparked pain. You inhaled a sharp breath through your nostrils, one you were certain could not have gone unheard, but was not acknowledged nonetheless.
But it was so gentle. The touches were so light and so careful, as if handling something of great fragility. It was almost impossible to believe they were the same hands from which the pain originated.
He exhaled, breath warm against your face, and tilted his head down, grabbing your own chin to tilt yours up. His hand rested on your hip. Your heart began to beat faster.
And then, just as your lips were so close to meeting that you could feel their warmth, there was a knock on the door. You both turned your heads over to the sound, but you lay still as he stood, threw on the robe beside the bed, and walked over to the door, opening for a mere moment and exchanging a brief murmur of acknowledgement before taking something into his hands.
Right. This would be around the correct time, when you were brought food each and every morning. You weren't certain if it was merely customary for the harbor people to eat their meals in their bedrooms, or if it was just done to keep you confined to one room as much as possible... but if you had to guess, it was very likely the latter.
You let your eyes close again, only vaguely processing the distinct sound of a tray being set on the table at the end of the room, and the footsteps coming back over to you. His hand slid underneath your form and lightly pressed upward, prompting you to sit upright, which you obediently followed.
The shifting caused the sheets to fall down from your body, exposing your bare chest. It wasn't as if it really mattered, all things considered, but you nonetheless raised your arm up across your breasts to cover them to the best of your ability.
Your own robe was right there, well within reach, having been carelessly slung over the bedpost to your side. It would be a simple extension of the arm to grab it and pull it onto your body, to cover your nakedness.
But you didn't dare do so yourself. That was, you knew from experience, one of many possible missteps that risked upsetting your master. It was doing something on your own, determining something for yourself. Such a simple act was a transgression, because it was an assertion, a nonverbal declaration that you would and even could take an action, transition from one state of condition to another, not only without explicit permission to do so. Likewise, it not only made an assumption that you would be permitted to do so, but it was also an assertion that you could do anything at all for yourself, a notion that you were supposed to leave no possible implications of being the truth. Such a simple, brief action would be an act of both defiance, arrogance, and independence alike.
Thus, you stayed perfectly still. After a moment, thankfully, it was retrieved for you, and you held your arms out weakly at it was secured around your body. After another moment of hesitation, knowing not to leave the bed of your own volition as well, you waited until you were gently held at the waist and pulled to the edge, a non-verbal command to stand. You stood and waited for the hand on your back with the lightest of a push, a motion permitting you to walk over and sit. You murmured your thanks as you were handed food, and bit your tongue when you were given an affectionate — and that much more belittling — pat on the head.
You swallowed your food without really tasting it, a mechanical process you went through each day to keep yourself alive (and, of course, because the prospect of a hunger strike would certainly not be well-met). The atmosphere as you ate was quiet, outside of the light sounds of utensils hitting the ceramic and the faint sound of your chewing. It was an awkward, heavy sort of silence, but silence was, in a way, good. Silence, boredom, they were neutral. Not particularly good on their own, but they were also an absence of anything negative. All far superior to less pleasant alternatives.
But you couldn't distract yourself from the sense of shame this morning ritual always carried with it. It was so domestic, so compliant on your end, perfectly trained to a set routine.
It was not only your own demeanor, though, in which the calmness and gentleness of it bothered you. Just as you did not create conflict or instigate any unpleasant interaction, neither were you presented with any hostility, cruelty, or aggression, so long as you performed your role without any mistakes or resistance.
But you almost wished you were.
Your long life had by no means been sheltered from witnessing the brutality of the world, even if you had thankfully not been subjected to it prior. You'd seen various gods and deities of different kinds, many of whom would savagely beat and maim subjects and underlings, even kill them, without a second thought. Inflicting the most unfathomable suffering on the lesser creatures for no purpose other than amusement.
That had not been the case with you at all.
The draconic Lord was not needlessly ill-natured, but perhaps that would almost be preferable. Any interaction always ended up with a burning feeling in your chest of humiliation, always spoken to like a stupid child or animal ➖not in a cruel sort of degradation and condescension, but an endeared, affectionate sort, that made it all that much more unbearable.
At least with an outwardly cruel master, you would be able to find solace in spite, feel a sense of dignity that came with hatred for an oppressive figure. The form of degradation you were forced to endure, however, was not like that of a tormentor or oppressor that would maim and brutalize their subjects within an inch of their life at random for amusement, nor do irreparable harm to their bodies by starvation or mutilation. Likewise, there would be a sort of pride you could maintain if you were kept in horrid conditions; if you were imprisoned in some filthy dungeon, starved and beaten and barely kept alive, enduring that would be a mark of pride. It would validate you as an opposing force, you could look your tormentor in the eye knowing you did not succumb, you could still hold your head high.
Yet, you were kept healthy and well-fed. Everything you were given to wear was of utmost quality, and most often pure silk, gliding smoothly against your skin with every movement. Your conditions were those of a life many mortals and immortals alike would dream of having. And you were never treated with severe, true violence — nothing that would break your bones, nothing that would injure you to the point of needing medical attention or threaten your life.
And yet, in its own way, that in and of itself felt like its own form of degradation, in part because it was all forced upon you, unable to be denied even if you wished. To be cared for in such a way, but given no agency of your own. Treated like a prized possession, and yet almost nothing that happened in your day, almost nothing you yourself even did, was of your own volition, all forced upon you.
It was, you knew deep down, the life of a pet. Perhaps better analogized to a child or a toy, but nonetheless looked down upon as a fragile, helpless, stupid creature; inferior, yet simultaneously treasured and treated with a sense of affection.
And yet, all the same, your body was sore, scratched and bruised, pinpointed spots of throbbing and aching and burning pains littered across your flesh, and deeper aches still from the insides of your bodily orifices.
In many ways, it was one of the worst parts of each day, to come out of the dreaming world and be confronted with the multitude of little indicators and reminders of your subjugation. Every aspect of your life had been moulded into matching the culture of your ruler deity, stripped of your own, which had had, as you'd learned, a great deal of differences, despite not being geographically too far apart. Nonetheless, you were eating their food, wearing their clothing, sleeping in a bed and a home of their architectural style, speaking their tongue. And above all—
"____, today will be a bit different from your usual routine."
Your jaw clenched.
Yes, that was what you hated the most. That name. It felt offensive, insulting, to have been robbed of the name you had used for centuries, only to have another forced upon you. You didn't get any say in what it was, it was merely assigned to you from the moment you had come. The phonology itself was very obviously derived from their linguistic culture, replacing your own, taking from you the last and most basic, fundamental part of your individuality.
But you said nothing. You looked up, raising your eyebrows in an inquisitive expression.
He placed his palm on top of your head, in what you supposed was intended to be another affectionate gesture.
"I have important matters to attend to today." His voice was of his usual, neutral tone, gentle but deep.
You closed your eyes for a brief moment before giving a single, soft nod. That was one of many common phrases that each carried their own implicative, secondary message, left unsaid but understood nonetheless. If a given day contained a great deal of matters deemed important, that would often mean you would spend a great deal of your day sitting in place, listening to a bunch of people talk about subjects of no relevance or significance to yourself, quiet and still like a lifeless doll. Only present to be seen. The 'important' descriptor meant nothing to you in and or itself, as no matters that were dealt with here ever meant anything to you, it was merely attached as a means of getting a message of its own across: that the tolerance threshold for any ill-intended behavior, outbursts, or any other form of acting out was temporarily far lower, and that consequently, any such behaviors would hold significantly higher penalties than they usually held.
"Alright."
Your voice still came out hoarse. It wasn't as if there was much else to say. You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to inquire further, and there was no sense in raising some sort of objection to the matter.
Rather, perhaps there was reason for it in spite alone, but it was a scene that had played itself out so many times in the past that at this point, it would merely be like rereading the same book for the hundredth time, the same words and actions and events played out again and again. Even if the resentment in your heart urged you to be defiant out of sheer emotion, at this point there was almost a sort of boredom to the idea, one that your emotions were, at least for the moment, not strong enough to override.
Sometimes you would act out just to alleviate boredom with the usual routine, so it was merely a matter of, upon any given day, which option sounded more appealing. After a long streak of good behavior, the days would become boring enough that creating chaos and conflict was entertaining... then the consequences of that would put you into another streak of compliance, and the cycle continued. Right now, you decided against it. You merely raised a cup of water up to your mouth, savoring the coolness to your throat as you drank what remained of it.
That was, however, not the full extent of information you were to be given. He set the cup in his hand down on the table before adding more explanation.
"I'll be meeting with... adversaries, and I would prefer to keep your existence unknown to them." He straightened his posture where he sat. "You are to stay in here for the day. I will be back by nightfall. Understood?"
You merely gave a soft nod, not taking your gaze off the floor until you saw movement. He leaned forward over the table, coming down to grab at your jaw, tilting your head upward to force eye contact. You felt a sudden jolt to your gut as your eyes met. While clearly not actively upset, his expression still communicated displeasure, eyes narrowed and face otherwise unexpressive and flat, lacking the faint smile of contentment he so often wore. His voice was firm as he spoke again, repeating the question with greater emphasis.
"Do you understand?"
You nodded frantically. Were it not for the tension of the moment, it might have been a touch comical how his fingers squished at your cheeks, distorting your speech.
"Y-yesh, Mash-ter..."
He exhaled a slow, deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes. His grip grew soft, coming to gently cup your cheek instead.
"Very well, then."
He leaned further forward, ever so softly pressing his lips to the top of your forehead for a brief moment before standing up and turning around, making his way over to the door. "Should you grow bored, there's a good deal of reading material on the shelves behind you." He turned around to shut the door behind him. This time, as your eyes met, he gave you a soft expression, corners of his mouth upturning just slightly. "I'll send for someone to bring you food and water in a few hours. I'll try to return as soon as possible."
You nodded. You tried to put on a similar expression in return, but your mouth twitched with the attempt. "I understand."
You had to force the words out of your mouth. What you truly felt went unspoken aloud, but the spite remained in your head nonetheless.
Please don't.
And once the door shut, you were left in what felt like a suffocating quiet. A tense, uneasy atmosphere, despite the stillness and silence of the room.
For a moment, you merely sat perfectly still, staring forward with dull eyes and an absence of mind, no thoughts of any kind beyond a sort of static buzz in the back of your head. With your life as it was, it was all too easy to slip into that foggy state, lulled into a waking sleep by the mundaneness and emptiness of everything you did, to the point that your brain was easily able to achieve a state of nothingness.
But after a moment, your eyes began to dart around the room. Your gaze fixated on your own shadow for a moment before you turned your head to the side, as if expecting to see something different from the same layout as always, as if something would change. Of course, it hadn't; the only windows remained high enough that you'd need to stand on your toes just for your fingers to brush against the bottom edge, and were covered by metallic bars at that.
And while the light just so happened to shine perfectly into your eyes from where you rested each day in bed, the small size of the windows and high placement left the room very dim even in the middle of the day. You supposed this room had been intentionally built for the purpose of keeping someone in. It certainly performed that function adequately.
Your heart rate was increasing. The subtle awareness of your situation began to slowly trail to the forefront of your mind, still largely held back by a profound fogginess that went beyond sleepiness.
Your eyes did graze over the books at the other end of the room, but you had no desire to even pick them up. Such things had ceased to hold any interest. These days, the mere notion of most activities seemed dull, uninteresting. You doubted the subjects of the material would be of any particular interest to you, anyway. You merely sat still, turned your gaze back to the door.
There was an unspoken understanding about the situation; you had seen in his eyes before he left that he knew you understood. It was a trial of sorts, a test. You had not been left entirely alone before. On normal days, you were dragged around from place to place, often meeting with all sorts of people whose names and faces you made no effort to register in your memory. Kept in your master's lap to be looked at, to be seen and displayed. You usually sat perpendicular to him, so that you could lean onto his chest and close your eyes and block it all out.
And when you could not be with him, when it was time to go to combat in the chaos and war of the world outside, or otherwise doing something you could not partake in, you were left with an attendant outside your door. And yet, when he had opened the door to leave, you could see there was no one outside. That, and telling you outright that an attendant would come along in a few hours was in and of itself a subtle double-message, intended to inform you that that meant, logically following, that there was no attendant watching over you at that moment, that you were going without supervision.
This was, thus, you immediately concluded, a test to see if you would stay in place, if you would still be in the room when he returned. A test of obedience, loyalty, and perhaps, how much you feared him.
It was only natural, thus, as that realization settled in, that your mind began to race with uncertainty. The mere thought, naturally, triggered an immediate impulse. Your innate instinct was to launch yourself out the door that very second and go bounding away down the hall.
Yet, of course, the more rational part of your consciousness halted that impulse with a sense of wariness and caution. If it was indeed a test, which you were more or less certain it was, that also meant there was almost guaranteed to be a sort of insurance measure for the possibility of your failure. There could very well have been guards posted by the door, intentionally placed so you wouldn't have seen them when it was opened. Hell, for all you knew, he could have very well been lying about any obligations, and merely be waiting right outside the door, ready to catch you in any act of disloyalty. It was likely that any doors to the outside would be locked or barred. There could be a physical trap of some kind, too. That was perhaps that being the most humiliating possibility, invoking the thought of being forced to sit in an obvious display of your actions and wait to be found and freed.
You gave your head a quick shake to clear your mind, halting the train of thought in its place.
The safe thing to do was nothing. With action, with hope, came risk, and with risk came rightful fear. Doing anything other than staying put was sure to end poorly. To even think to intentionally violate the standard of behavior you were being blatantly tested for was incredibly foolish and naive. You imagined that such an attempt would be the absolute worst of transgressions you could possibly commit, and the mere thought of irreparably crossing some sort of line made you shiver.
Drop it. Forget it. Leave it be.
You repeated the words to yourself, over and over, trying to quell the impulse. It was for your own good.
...But there was nothing wrong with just poking your head out the door, was there? Even if you were immediately met with someone, you could easily say you thought you heard something and were just checking to see the source of the sound. That was as good an excuse as any.
That alone couldn't hurt. It would just be for a second. Just to look.
Slowly, without much active thought, you found yourself rising to your feet. You swallowed, and took a deep breath.
In a way, you almost hoped you would open the door and see someone standing there. At least then, that could be the end of it. Any faint hope could be extinguished, you could return to the comfort that came with helplessness, knowing you could not do anything. When that window of opportunity didn't exist, there were no what-ifs, no fear of missing out on an opportunity, no conflict of what to do.
But as your hand slowly pushed the door open, you were only met with a dark hall.
The halls were, by contrast to the room, far more dark and unsettling. Windowless spaces only illuminated by a few lamps along the walls.
You turned your head left, then right, analyzing both halls. The left one ended very shortly with an opening to another two options to turn down subsequent halls, while the right one carried on for some distance before doing the same.
But what you did not see, was any presence other than your own. There was no one. Only emptiness.
You felt something, though. Something beyond your primary senses. A subconscious, skin-crawling feeling, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, that made you feel cold all over. As if being watched, even surrounded by emptiness.
A nauseous feeling crept up in your gut. You shut the door in haste, shakily stumbling backwards as if having been shoved. You lowered yourself down to sit on the ground once more, legs feeling too uneasy to keep standing. The door seemed to loom intimidatingly before you. It was so close, and yet, the thought of stepping outside of it on your own felt foreign, somehow wrong, as if some extreme action that no one in their right mind would do.
No. There was nothing, you had seen so yourself. It was merely the feeling of dread becoming too much, holding you back. You were letting paranoia go to your head.
And that brought back the self-directed frustration, anger. You were letting fear get the better of you. You had literally seen with your own two eyes that there was nothing outside. You could walk out, and no one would know.
There was a burning sensation in your chest. A long-forgotten, supressed feeling. Your dignity and pride... how pathetic was it to not even take this opportunity to do something? Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least look around, familiarize yourself with what was around you. Yes, you likely wouldn't be able to find a way out today, but at the very least, scouting it out would be incredibly useful for the future.
To stay here and cower in submission and obedience... would that just go on forever/ In the back of your mind, you had always made some sort of automatic assumption that you would, one day, get out. You had always thought about the future in those terms, wondered what you'd do or where you'd go when that happened. The sudden, intrusive thought, even merely a passing one for just a brief moment, that this would be permanent...
Just as the thought crossed your mind, your eyes trailed over to a mirror on the other side of the room, the vertical sort that extended to the floor.
You sat in place for some time. Unmoving, staring at your own reflection, letting the minutes pass by in quiet, transfixed, unable to look away.
Your eyes looked dull and tired. Your body was slouched over, like a limp doll left to sit on the ground. You scanned every inch of your body. The way your hands rested limply in your lap. The scratches on your back that you could see the ends of where the loose robes had fallen down to expose your shoulders. Taking it all in. It felt like nothing more than a husk, soul long since departed.
Every little detail was a mark of ownership over you, a claim to your life, body and soul, a statement that they all were no longer your own. As if stripping you of personhood, redesigning your exterior and your habits to serve as a perpetual reminder that you were defeated, broken into submission.
And in that new, reconstructed person, there was no place to have any pride. Any dignity or self-respect was out of place, it did not belong, it was not supposed to exist anywhere within the new object that had been created. It was a smudge on a fine painting, dust on a shelf, dirt on a toy -- it would be unhesitatingly wiped away, ensuring that the respective possession of value was free of such undesired impurities. Leaving behind only a flawless object that would perfectly serve its purpose, to be used as it was designed to be.
A painting's was to be looked at, a shelf's was to store, and a toy... it was to be played with, used for the enjoyment of its owner.
Some time passed. Many thoughts came and went, miserable, bitter, and shameful. You sat there and stared. At some point, your eyes began to slowly close, your head felt heavy and cloudy, and your body relaxed...
But it was then that you seemed to snap out of your transfixation, shaking your head. You'd nearly gone to sleep sitting up, and would have wasted the day away. Such falling asleep during the day had become something of a habit at this point, often sleeping for far longer periods of time than necessary or even healthy, just to escape from the waking world.
Your chest felt tight with shame. No. You wouldn't allow that. To just sit there and be a good, obedient pet. Your sense of pride, whatever remained of it, couldn't allow that. The you from before wouldn't have allowed you to become like this, would be ashamed of you for inaction.
You rose to your feet once more and, with a deep breath to steady your nerves, made your way back to the door, opening it once more. After turning your head once again, checking to ensure it was still empty, you looked down at the ground, where the pattern of the floor transitioned over a straight line dividing the room and the hall.
You hesitated for another moment. The fear was still present, even if you did your best to go on in spite of it. It felt daunting, like some tremendous act.
But you stepped over it nonetheless, tiles cool on the soles of your feet. And then, you were left standing.
You left the door open, just in case someone came along and you needed to rush back into the room. You turned your head in each direction.
You had been down the left hall plenty of times, you were fairly familiar with the layout of the estate, having intentionally made sure to commit it to memory, should there be any possibility of finding an exit.
The right hall, however, you'd never been down. But not only was it so expansive it was difficult to take it all in, there was also the fact that as far as you knew, it only led to more and more rooms, you could see doors in a line down the walls as far as your vision extended.
It was still morning. If he said he would be back before nightfall, that meant you had a great deal of time. Although you were told there would be an attendant to bring you a midday meal, but even that would be at least a few hours away, even with you having wasted... you estimated around maybe two hours idly sitting in the room.
Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least pace yourself to go explore a bit and memorize what you found, trying to mentally keep track of time and return before someone came. If someone found you outside, then, you could claim you were searching for an attendant to request water or food. That was perfectly realistic, wasn't it?
As you took the first steps, a shiver ran down your spine. There it was again, that intense feeling of unease, something beyond the fear of being seen. Some sensation, some sense that made you twitch, eyes darting all around. There was still nothing. And yet, your heart rate increased even further than the nervousness already paced it, your breathing grew heavier and faster. You took a few more cautious steps. The feeling persisted, and in a way, seemed to direct you, a subconscious way of feeling the direction it was coming from, controlling your gaze to follow the sensation. Following what seemed like the silent command of that sense, your head tilted upwards to the rafters of the ceiling.
For just a moment, the slightest of seconds, you caught a glimpse of something.
A dark, humanoid silhouette, a smaller frame than that of your master's, barely distinguishable from the surrounding shadow, crouched down on the rafter beam and leaning forward. Bright yellow eyes that shone out in the darkness, wide open and staring at you with eerily intense focus.
A spike of panic lurched through your chest. You inhaled a sharp gasp and took an instinctive step back, your frame of sight disoriented and blurred with the movement.
And then, as your vision refocused, it was gone.
You blinked a few times, rubbed at your eyes, and looked again. Yes, there was nothing there.
You exhaled the air you'd been holding in, a shuddering breath. You reached a trembling hand up to the spot where your neck met your jaw, pressing two fingers down into the flesh to feel just how hard and fast your heart pounded.
It was merely your own paranoia getting to your head, imagining things. You had to shake it off and keep going. Your footsteps hastened.
You still slowed yourself down as you reached a dark corner, slowly poking your head over the bend. Nothing down the next hall, either, nor could you hear any footsteps or faint chatter or anything that would indicate another presence. It gave you at least some boost in assurance, steadying your walking.
And the next corner, and the next corner. It was as if there wasn't a soul in the whole, massive building, despite there usually being servants to the god that moved around performing various tasks, and guards as well. The Geo god spared no effort in maintaining subjects to keep everything in this place in line, whatever said place was. You knew it was not the real world — that was how the realm had been, by whatever means, indued with some sort of ward that had left you unable to use your own divine power from the moment you were brought in. Many gods had similar dwellings... but they could all be entered and exited, and this would be no exception.
Still, it almost felt too easy. Following the widest hall and keeping to the right side seemed to lead you exactly the way you wanted to go, into areas silent but still dimly lit enough to see. After what seemed like a torturously suspended wait, you halted in place as you rounded the next bend.
Your heart began to pound not merely in fear, but excitement, an exhilarating buzz in your chest that elated your spirit. This hall did not end with another curve, but instead, a door.
A set of large double doors, to be exact. It was a deep red, the wood intricately carved, the frame equally designed with obvious devotion and craftsmanship. Larger and more eye-catchingly ornate than any of the doors lining the hallway, and set at the very end of the hall, looming before you in an almost unnerving perfection, picturesque in a near perfect symbol of the end of your short journey.
That was, of course, indicative of a front door.
A door leading outside.
You could feel your heartbeat throughout your body, each pulse a pounding in your chest, a rush through your throat and extremities. The tile was cold to your bare feet as they slowly, cautiously stepped forward, each footstep just the lightest and faintest of sounds.
Your hand turned the knob and pulled. It was quite heavy, as could be expected from the quality and authenticity of the wood used for such a large entryway. Still, with a tug, the door slid on its hinges towards you. Your shoulders tensed up at the low groaning sound of the aged wood.
The sunlight was nearly blinding, just the mere sliver that came through the gap to which you'd opened it, no more than the width of your hand. The sudden burn caught you off-guard, and you stiffened as your eyes reflexively shut, taking a moment to adjust before slowly, barely parting your eyelids once more.
As your eyes quickly adjusted to the light, you could make out the myriad of colors that composed the natural part of the realm, green all around of grass and plants, the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds.
The sun not only brought its light, but also a pleasant warmth that swept over the narrow vertical line of your body that the light shone upon. As you inhaled, your nostrils were filled with the invigorating fresh scent of dirt and sky and life, the air itself warm in your lungs.
For the briefest of moments, you stood perfectly still, taking just a single second to bask in the euphoria gracing your senses even in spite of your nerves.
But you couldn't just go running out, no, that would be foolish... right? You had no idea how to get out of this realm from here, and would certainly be seen by some guard or attendant or another if you recklessly walked out in broad daylight. If you were caught, it would be ages before this sort of opportunity would come again.
But it couldn't hurt, surely, to just peek around the door, to poke your head out and get a better look at your surroundings. You pulled the door a bit wider, just enough to fit your head through, holding the edge of the door propped open with your forearm.
There were no visible persons outside, either. No guards, no humans nor beasts. Just sun and grass and decoratively assembled stone and masonry that carried on for a ways into the distance.
And more importantly, you could see in the distance, at the end of a winding trail, a glowing pillar of light. The devices that led in and out of these ethereal realms. You had seen plenty in your time in godhood.
In that case... even if there were guards beyond your frame of sight, if you made a run for it, you could probably reach the end. And once you were out into the real world, surely even with your limited combative capacity, you could still utilize the abilities you possessed to get far away and ward off any pursuers. You could run far, far away, find a new land to live in. You could feign being a regular mortal and live life alongside them to conceal yourself. You were not the sort of overly-prideful deity that would consider such a thing to be an insult; in fact, such a prospect didn't sound bad at all.
It was all far too perfect. You found the corners of your mouth turning upward on their own, unable to conceal your excitement even if you had tried. Perhaps the higher beings in Celestia had taken favor on you, or decided to compensate you for your unjust persecution. Your breathing was so heavy that your shoulders and chest rose and fell with each respiration. Your eyes watered. It didn't even feel real, it was all so sudden, your mind felt frozen in shock. Your whole body was filled with a tingling sensation, your head felt lighter than air. You pulled your head back through the door, reaching back for the handle and pulling it wide enough to slip your body through, watching as more light poured into the dark hall.
A startled grunt came out of your throat as your body was jerked forward by the door slamming shut, pulled by your hand still gripping the handle.
The harsh sound of the door forcefully hitting its frame echoed across the vastness of the hall, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.
You stood frozen stiff, still slightly leaning forward from the motion. Unmoving as a statue, paralysis seizing your body. It felt as if even your heart stopped, every organ and vein in your body completely gone still. There was a tightness in your chest, a heavy feeling in your gut, as if your stomach weighed your body down. Your hand was still latched onto the door handle, grip having gone limp, but arm still stiffly extended, unable to move if you tried.
A distinct, straight strip of shadow darkened the area just before you, blocking the light from above. As the echo of the door crashing back into the frame faded, only silence remained.
Your eyes slowly trailed upward. With hesitancy, a slowness out of the cold, heavy feeling in your gut. Delaying the inevitable, torn between frantic urge to know and yet desperately wanting not to. Suspending the few precious seconds of intentional ignorance.
A hand was pressed against the door, having shut it with force. The flesh of the arm outstretched above you from behind gradually darkened in color downwards to the hand that was pressed flat to the surface of the door, the end of each finger tipped with curved, thick claws, rather than fingernails. The fingers curled just a bit, with the slightest sound of a scrape against the wood.
An arm extended out directly above your head, trailing back to something behind you. You could feel a radiating warmth against your back, just shy of brushing against you, so close that you could even detect it without the primary senses, some sort of innate ability to sense presence.
Your jaw was slack, lips parted just in the slightest. Your mouth opened wider, as if to say something, but nothing came out, throat choked and tight.
Until, that is, you felt something brush against the top of your shoulder. The other arm extended forward, crossing over the shoulder to reach for your face.
Muscles across your body twitched and tightened, your eyes blew wider open still, body stiffening even further as a series of sharp pinpoints slowly, lightly came to rest on the flesh of your face, fingers gripping your jaw. Not too harshly, nor lightly. A perfect balance; not enough to cause real pain, but just heavily enough that you could acutely feel the sharpness of the ends pressing into the soft flesh of your face.
And with that, your stillness ceased. Albeit still stiff, every inch of your body began to tremble.
Your lip trembled. Your eyes began to water.
The silence felt like it would crush you, a heavy nothingness for several seconds.
"...And just what are you doing out here?"
As involuntary as your shaking, high-pitched, fearful little sound came out of the back of your throat. Pathetic and shameful. The sound of your own voice in your ears made a hot, bitter feeling of shame course through your body, amidst the fear that seized your entire being. Your mouth opened, twitching as you tried to speak.
"A-ah... I..."
Any words you could have summoned felt caught in your throat. You went silent, unable to finish. A few more moments of tense silence passed. You stood in place, unable to bring yourself to turn around.
The hand on the door retracted, slowly moving downward. The arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you so that your bodies now touched. The body behind you leaned forward and downward, just enough to speak directly into your ear, face brushing against the side of your own.
"You're quite a ways away from where you were told to stay." He slowly drummed his fingers against the narrowest part of your waist. "You must have wandered out by mistake and gotten disoriented."
In a quieter, lower voice, so close to your ear you could feel his breath as he spoke, he finished,
"...Is that right?"
It was, of course, blatantly facetious. Pretending as if that were even a reasonable explanation, a sort of mutually understood, mock disingenuousness. Transparently so, no actual effort to make you think he was truly ignorant, mutually understood to be a slow torment.
There might have been a right answer and a wrong answer. Perhaps both were right or wrong, or perhaps neither was either. It was a question to test your reaction, see if you would be spiteful or obediently meek. Even so, the submissive option was also a wrongdoing of dishonesty.
But in your panicked impulse, that was the option you rushed for nonetheless.
"I..." You swallowed. "Y-yes, I... I was just..." You looked down, only to see with your own eyes how badly your body trembled. Another matter came to mind. "I... I thought you were with...?"
He waited a moment to respond. "...I was." The cold ominousness and implication of discontentment of his tone made you wince, but he spoke again before you could stammer out some insistence of your innocence, or try to apologize. "However, the guardian I had set for you came to inform me you were wandering around the halls, so it's adjourned for the day."
You grinded your teeth. You had seen something after all, it wasn't just imagination.
Why had you thought otherwise? Of course, of course he wouldn't have left you completely unsupervised. Thinking so for even a moment had been an act of supreme foolishness. You chastised yourself in your head for such stupidity. It was even placed up towards the ceiling with, no doubt, the exact intention of making you believe you weren't being supervised. It felt almost malicious.
Even aside from that matter, hearing those words made your heart sink further, knowing that having to deal with you had interrupted something of utmost significance. For one, that implied that, considering the risk of being interrupted, that he actually, genuinely had believed you would be obedient. Secondly, having disrupted something of importance made your transgression that much greater of an offense, and no doubt, thereby deserving a retribution that much more severe. You could feel your heartbeat across your body, in your throat, in your head, in your limbs, a harsh, intense pounding, pumping adrenaline-laced blood through your system.
But you remained silent. It felt as if something was stuck in your throat, blocking your breath and speech.
A few moments passed. No doubt intentional, dragging out the moment, not granting you the mercy of being spared the torturous dread. And then, the hands detached from your jaw and waist respectively.
"Alright, now. Come."
His arm reached around your back, hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you forward in manner both gently slow and lacking in force, yet the touch itself firm. His voice was calm, but cold, commanding. It was not aggressive nor harsh, nor loud, nor rough. His facial expression was not only equally calm, but even pleasant, the sort of expression that was just the slightest upturn of the mouth, but more of a smile in the eyes, almost amused. No contortion in anger or disgust.
Morax did not need harshness. Perhaps other gods and rulers and masters might. To require a booming voice and a snarl to one's tone, a forceful aggression and volume and threat of intense violence to instill submission. For others, fear had to be enforced on the subjects, they had to be made to cower.
But not him. He could speak in such a calm voice, and still expect to be followed. It was not an indicator of a lack of power, but the opposite — knowing that you knew that power without having to have it repeatedly demonstrated. Knowing full well you were terrified regardless, perhaps more so with the eerie aura of the calmness. Knowing you had no choice but to follow, that submission was already won, and that there was thus no need to do anything but simply command it. That the possibility of such a direct command being disobeyed did not even cross his mind. A quiet form of dominance only knowable by those at such an apex of power and supremacy that obedience came as naturally to their subjects as breathing.
And that was the thought that infuriated you so, so deeply.
Your heart felt as if it had stopped, a wave of cold that ran through your blood. Pure and unadulterated fear amalgamated with a deep, swelling bitterness, coursing side by side through your veins. Your jaw clenched harder and harder, your hands curled up into fists.
There was something else, though, beyond that. A heavy, burning feeling in your chest. Pressure that had built up, near the point of bursting. All the humiliation and subjugation you had compliantly endured, a foul taste of embittered fury and brutalized pride. You recalled your hollow, tired appearance in the mirror.
You'd been so controlled by fear from the moment you were captured by the other — admittedly far superior — deity, meekly complying most of the time, outside of a few outbursts and moments of defiance that were so infuriatingly written off as immaturity or merely being a brat, treated with indignation and a sort of condescension that yes, once more you thought to yourself that you wished was crueler, that would have been less humiliating and hurtful if you were treated like an enemy or a slave rather than a disobedient child, an unruly pet.
What would the 'you' from before had thought of your willingness to simply bow your head and follow...?
You took a step backwards, pulling yourself out of the grasp of the arm around you.
Perhaps, in part, it was mere reflexive instinct. But there was also force to the action. Intent. Driven by that same swell of resentment, so strong it overrode your dread. You took an uneasy stance, one foot behind you and the other forward, prepared to take another step back.
You both came to a halt. Your eyes met.
You still trembled, but you stood your ground.
The pleasant expression fell from his face. His eyes became half-lidded and narrowed, shoulders shifting downward as the arm that was around you came to rest at his side. There was an ominous edge to his tone as he spoke.
"...Surely you do not want to make this more difficult than need be?"
His gaze felt piercing. Your eyes darted downward.
"I..." You swallowed. "I just..."
It wasn't as if there was a point. Even if you were to turn around and bolt, you wouldn't even be able to get the door open before you'd be caught. There was no practical, logical point to resistance. There was nothing to be gained, and there was certainly a great increase in your imminent suffering if you did not.
And above all, you were consumed by dread, a fearful anticipation. Perhaps that, in part, was what kept your legs locked still, a desire to delay the inevitable. But above all, your pride demanded your resistance.
"...I don't..."
You tried to speak. You could summon the words in your head, at least. Words you had thought before, when you would lay in bed at night, playing out pathetic revenge fantasies in your head where you told him exactly what you thought and felt, like you were some kid imagining yourself standing up to a schoolroom bully you knew you'd never have the gall to face in reality. You'd say that you were sick and tired of being debased and degraded, that you weren't a toy, that you wouldn't tolerate being talked down to any longer, that you weren't an object to be owned. The fantasies always ended there, as you were unable to even imagine a scenario in which the aftermath of such an outburst ended well for you.
You couldn't get the words out. Perhaps in large part due to intimidation, but even still, because you knew that to some extent, many of those statements were wrong. In the most realistic sense, you were owned. That was how the brutality of the real world functioned. The superior ones exerted their strength, and in turn, the weaker ones submitted... or else, were eliminated. If one could successfully imprison and force the other to their will, they essentially did have claim to ownership.
Thus, you merely stood your ground. It was all you could do to look up at him with anger, however obvious the fear alongside it may be, on your face.
He merely huffed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Be reasonable." He turned his gaze back up to you. His eyes narrowed further. "...You will follow, willingly or not. I am extending you the opportunity to demonstrate remorse, and you would be wise to take it."
You remained still, and stayed silent. The quiet weighed down on your chest, as if to crush you. Part of you wanted to give in, a survival instinct to submit and obey, an urge to run forward and fall to your knees in a display of repentance. But you suppressed it, and remained in place.
He paused a moment, waiting for a response, but upon receiving none, he gave a deep sigh, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
"Three."
Your jaw clenched. The bitter fury rose up like a punch to the stomach.
Of all the things he could have said, to do that, to instigate this degrading routine you'd become so familiar with, was probably the worst.
Your heart beat harder. The very nature of the act strengthened your impulse to rush forward, the setup itself being to intimidate you with gradual increase of threat. Perhaps it was because you knew that, and how degrading it felt, that you managed to stay still.
"Two."
His voice grew a firmer edge with the single word, audibly colder and deeper than the first.
Your fingers curled, clenching your hands into fists. You grinded your teeth. You could feel your eyes water, but with all the willpower you could muster, you refrained from breaking down, from giving in.
But you did give in, at least in a way, to the fear. You couldn't keep looking him in the eye. You turned your gaze to the floor... but it didn't stop you from being able to see his face in the edge of your vision. Given the look on his face, you wished you had turned your head entirely.
He was silent as seconds came and went, having well surpassed the implied time limit. Staring at you with narrowed eyes and a displeased expression.
"...How childish."
When he took a step forward, your panic surged back anew, and you stumbled backwards, but to no avail. His hand locked around your wrist, and the pretense of gentleness momentarily disappeared as you were jerked forward with immense force. You didn't even get the chance to stumble, the force with which you were slung was enough that your feet left the ground and you crashed down to the floor with a frightened yelp, catching yourself on your forearms. As soon as you hit the ground, your shaking hands scrambled to push you back up, but just as you began to shuffle onto your hands and knees, you gagged as your weight was pulled off the ground by a hand grabbing the back of your robe, causing the front to choke you by the throat. Your feet stumbled to find purchase on the ground, but they were pulled off the ground once more, leaving your legs flailing in the air. You went airborne again for a moment as you were thrown upward, retching as your body was slung over his shoulder so that the bone slammed against your stomach.
The journey back seemed so much faster than your initial one, given your shorter legs and how cautious you'd been. You hadn't realized just how short the distance you'd traveled really was until that moment, as the return passed so quickly you became aware of just how pathetically short of a distance you'd truly gotten. You cried out and writhed, less out of a conscious decision, and more pure panic triggering some innate instinct. You were fairly certain you got out a few strained, stuttered words — wait and stop and no — but you received nothing in reply.
It was over in a matter of minutes. The door was still hanging open as you'd left it, but was shut with a harsh sound behind you. You cried out as you were unceremoniously tossed down, body weight slamming into the mattress so that it bounced back for a moment from the impact as you lay stunned on your back.
Your elbows pressed down to prop yourself up. You barely lifted your torso upwards before you were slammed back down again by a crushing force to your chest, claw-like nails digging into the flesh around your collarbones. He came to loom over your form from above, leaning with one foot on the ground, the other calf bent at the knee and resting weight onto the mattress.
“Your ingratitude is boundless, isn't it?” He remained perfectly still, looming over you even as you began to writhe. “To think, I could have killed you. There is no reason you shouldn't have met the same fate as every other—" his grip tightened, enunciating the next word in a sudden increase in irritation to his voice, betraying the faux pleasantness up until that moment, "foolish little pest that thought to challenge something so far greater than yourself."
Your eyes nearly squeezed shut with the strain of your struggling. The words made your lip tremble, your eyes burn. Every time the memory was invoked, you felt so utterly stupid, shameful over your own naivete.
You grabbed at the hand on your chest, and pulled with every ounce of strength you could summon, the full and utmost entirety of your strength.
It didn't even seem to be noticed, much less affect him in any way. The hand did not budge, nor did his face show any sign of strain, no indication that your full strength took even a modicum of effort to restrain.
"But I had favor on you," he continued, voice returning to a quiet coldness, "and took you to be my own." His other hand reached back up to your face, gripping your jaw with force and acute pressure as each nail dug into the soft flesh. “I chose…” his voice lowered to a murmur, “…to allow you to live…” he pushed your head back, “…under very, very simple conditions.”
Your body trembled beyond your control. He watched you struggle, golden eyes half-lidded and cold, lacking any sign of empathy. You felt a surge of dread spike in your chest as the nails dug into your flesh, just shy of piercing the skin. After a moment, he finished,
“...Do you recall what those conditions were?”
Your lip trembled. The last remnants of pride you possessed fought against breaking down.
Yes, you recalled perfectly. You had so quickly rushed to agree to comply, out of pure, pathetic cowardice at the terror of the moment, in a desperate attempt to have your life spared.
The way it was brought up felt so, so shameful. Yes, you really would prefer outright cruelty to this. It was, at least, more transparent, more direct.
The way of speech he possessed was somehow far more soul-crushing. Such a calm, low voice, and yet tinged with an unmistakeable condescension. But the tension in it had slowly increased with each word, like an ominous, vague shadow growing closer and closer.
Each beat of your heart sent a heavy pulse through your head, you could feel the blood as it circulated around your temple and back into your throat, over and over. Your body felt so cold.
You forced the words out, voice hoarse.
“To… to remain here in this... this realm…”
He didn't hesitate to press further. “And?”
“And… and…” you swallowed. Your voice began to tremble, audibly on the verge of tears. “To… to obey your... every word."
"...That's correct." His voice was still so calm, low and rumbling. As if it were a regular conversation, as if he wasn't holding you down. Nonetheless ever laced with that sense of condescension, belittlement in the pretense of the feigned pleasantness. "Now... I could be remembering incorrectly," his thumb rubbed in a back-and-forth motion against your chin, "but I believe that I very specifically instructed you to wait in this room."
You felt sick. You bit down on your lip, inhaling as deeply as you could to fight a sense of nausea.
"...Am I mistaken?"
You shook your head back and forth rapidly. Your eyes squeezed shut, tears collecting and pooling around your eyelashes. Your voice came out strained and cracking. "No..."
It was the best reply you could give. A lose-lose situation, where any answer you could muster was a bad one, yet the honest answer was, at least, hopefully the lesser of the possible offenses.
And with that answer, finally, that slowly-increasing tension, the underlying malice, reached its peak. As if that shadow caught up to you, the pretense of calmness and faux-gentleness dissipated. You saw his eyes narrow further. The hand on your chest moved upward. Your heart skipped a beat, a chill pulsated through your blood, but you had no time to react.
"Enlighten me, then. Why, exactly..."
His palm slammed down onto your throat. Your eyes went wide with panic, your hands reached to grasp at his arm.
He spoke the next words with gritted teeth, voice still low in volume, but now with an unmistakeable rumbling harshness to his voice.
"...Did I find you where you were?"
Your initial instinct, without conscious thought, was to struggle, back arching as your body lurched against the hold. It only caused you greater pain, pressure digging into your throat. You took a gasp to the best of your ability.
If you had thought it through, perhaps it would have been evident that what you said next was a poor choice, but much like your writhing, in your panic, your first instinct was to placate and defend yourself.
"I wasn't doing anything bad, I just—"
You cut off with hitched breath as his fingers curled into your neck, sharpness nearly piercing your flesh.
"Do not lie to me."
Your lip trembled. You swallowed to the best of your ability.
"I'm sorry..."
The grip tightened, cutting off your airways nearly entirely.
"It was a question. Answer."
Of course, he already knew. You knew that, and he knew that you knew. It didn't need to be said. It was not so much a question as it was a command -- not merely to "answer," but to admit, to confess. And that was, realistically, the only valid option you had.
"Because I... I wanted to..." You took as deep of a breath as you could, swallowing, shuddering on the exhale. "I..."
You went quiet for a moment. You took rapid, shallow breaths, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to speak.
"You...?"
It was mocking, but frustrated tone in his voice, clearly growing impatient. He seemed to, at least, realize you were struggling to speak, and thus the crushing force to your throat loosened.
Your fingers curled against the sheets as bitterness swelled in your chest once more at the insult inherent to how he spoke to you, the audacity to express impatience when he was the very reason you struggled to speak. The push and pull of fear and anger often wavered back and forth, one overtaking the other for a moment. Each was reactionary, the emotion that won over at a given moment for a given response each dependent on what was said or done to you. The anger had been building, pressurizing, but finally burst as it did — anger was always the emotion that would come out in one sudden, explosive moment, only to retreat as soon as the fear always won back over. You knew that, and could have predicted the cyclic movement of the two, but in the moment, it won out nonetheless. You had intended to finish with saying you wanted to run, or perhaps a more dishonest answer, but a more spiteful sentiment overcame you.
"Because I wanted to!"
Taking advantage of the sudden absence of pressure, you lurched upward to the best of your ability. His hand still caught your movement halfway, forcefully grasping your shoulder, but you curled yourself upward to come closer to his level, almost halfway sitting up, propping your weight on one of your hands outstretched behind you, the other you reached out and, to draw him closer as well as keep you from being pushed downward, actually lashed out and tightly locked your grip around one of the horns at the base of his skull. Your body trembled, this time in a deep, furious rage, as you took more heaving breaths. Your nose scrunched up with your expression of fury.
"I can do what I want! You don't own me, and I don't have to do a goddamn thing you say, you—!"
You cut off.
Rather, you couldn't speak another word. It felt as if you were choking, even with the absence of a weight on your throat.
Once more, a reactionary compulsion. Those spiteful outbursts were always so brief, so easily shut down, any prideful spirit crushed without effort by the factor of sheer intimidation.
In that moment, it was the look on his face. The eyes went half-lidded, expression blank, not outwardly, visually angry, but displeased, unamused. Much like with everything else, it was far more terrifying to you than any outward anger you'd expect from anyone else.
Silence fell over the room, only the faintest sound as he drummed his fingers on the other hands against the sheets, a sedentary stimulus.
"...Go on."
The simple phrase was ominous, foreboding in its cold, low tone.
You clamped your jaw down, shoulders bunching up as you released your grip and shrunk back, back hitting the headrest of the bed. Your throat felt tight, as if blocked, obstructed. Your toes and fingers curled in a fearful instinct.
"...N-no, I didn't..."
"No." He reached out and took your face in his hand, thumb digging into one side, fingers into the other. "You were going to say something else?"
You tried to shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. "No, I wasn't — I didn't mean that, I didn't—mm!"
You whimpered as your midriff was pulled forward, and head downward, effectively pushing you back down onto your back. There was a sharp pain as one of the claw-like nails just barely pierced a layer of flesh from the force, not enough to bleed, but enough to feel the distinct sting, the sort of cut that would leave a raised-up, reddened line down your skin for some time to come.
Your chest rapidly heaved up and down with panicked breaths. Your eyes blew wide, staring upwards into those that looked down at you with an intimidating darkness. Your hands lifted upward, as if to push him back, but merely rested in front of you, fingers curled and trembling, uncertain and hesitantly refraining.
"In that case," he rested one hand on your shoulder to hold you down, "I will extend you significant grace," the grip tightened on the enunciated word, just enough for you to feel it, "and allow you to start over. Try once more."
His other hand reached for your throat once more and pressed down. A sharp inhale of surprise proved you could still breathe, albeit greatly restricted, as if sucking in air through a straw.
It was at that moment, though, that the worst possible thought came to you. It hadn't occurred to you until that moment, but at the reminder he gave about how your situation came to be to begin with, the thought did flash through your mind, the worst possible consequence. That created an entirely new degree of fear. Your whole body seemed to sink into the mattress.
Your mouth opened, but you had to squeeze your eyes shut to manage to get the words out.
"I was... trying to..." Your voice lowered to a quiet whimper, a natural desire for avoidance. "Run away..."
Your chest convulsed, but you could only inhale a small amount of air with each breath. You began to feel lightheaded. Only pure fear and uncertainty kept you conscious.
But with that increased fear, any room for dignity was long since gone. Tears pooled in your eyes and streamed down your face. Your voice came out in a pathetic, miserable, pitiful whimper.
"Don't... don't kill me... please..."
It was not the first time those words had left your mouth. Perhaps there was even a comedic, ironic factor to the similarity, the repetition of the words parallel to the repetition of the scenario you found yourself in.
Yes, it was very much like this. His hand had been on your throat then, too. You recalled it perfectly. Defeated and battered, literally crawling on your knees before you were lifted up by the neck and slammed into the wall. You recalled the way your body tensed as the cold tip of the spear pressed to your chest right below the breast where your heart rested, just enough pressure to break the skin, the way a slow trickle of blood had trailed down your side. Tears and snot had run down your face, your breathing was rapid, heaving gasps, your legs had pathetically kicked and flailed, your hands had clawed at the grip.
You were not told outright that you would live, no. In hindsight, that had probably already been determined, but you weren't told so. There had been the same suspense, making you wait, enjoying putting you in abject terror as your life flashed before your eyes.
Perhaps it was because you had been cocky, overly confident in your capacities, that that torment was extended. For someone who took such gleeful thrill in conquering, it made sense to relish in the way you begged and struggled. It was the same words. Very basic ones, of course, standard, probably what any conqueror of such prowess had heard a hundred times.
Don't kill me, please don't kill me...
Likewise, you could still hear the mocking tone to his voice, see the gleam in his eyes.
You're right. It would be such a waste to kill you when you can be put to good use, don't you think?
And he had given you that same smile. The same one you received whenever you cried, whenever you were blubbering out apologies for some misdeed. Whenever you begged for anything, whenever you shivered and cowered and curled up into him for warmth or comfort. Whenever you succumbed to pleasure forced upon you, melted into a drooling, twitching, barely-responsive mess. Seemingly soft and mild, but the longer you looked, the more and more apparent became the undertone of sadistic pleasure.
The same one you recognized now, as you dared open your eyes, even through the blur of your tears.
It was always the same. Even in the softest and most gentle of moments, there was still that same gleam to his eyes.
"You want to be forgiven, then?"
You sniffled. "Yes..."
Another pause. Drawing the moment out. Making you feel every second of anticipation.
"Mm."
His hand detached from your throat. You took a deep, gasping breath.
But just as you began to recover, he took a fistful of the robe around you, pulling you up from the bed, setting you down — not letting you fall, but taking care to actually set you on the ground — onto your knees. He sat back down on the bed, sideways so that he faced your crumpled form, feet on the ground.
"I'm sure you know, forgiveness is not automatically granted... it is earned." He grabbed your jaw once more, forcing you to look up at him. "Do you understand?"
You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut, sniffling. The soft "mhm" that came out of your throat sounded utterly pitiful.
"Good." He reached down to cup your face, tilting your head to face him, causing your eyes to open on reflex. Just enough to see the amused smirk on his face as he spoke. "Then show me how you intend to earn forgiveness from your God."
It hurt. It hurt in your stomach, your chest. A type of pain so different from the scratches and bruises, an unphysical, deeper pain, an emotion so strong you could feel it in your skin and bones.
But you crawled forward on your knees nonetheless.
"Yes... Master..."
A routine you could move through almost mechanically, although this was the first time you'd performed it so desperately, not to mention the added difficulty of your shaking hands. Leaning your body forward, grasping at buttons to unfasten. You inhaled sharply when one of the cocks hit the side of your face as it sprung from the restraint of clothing.
Your breathing was still heavy and rapid from the adrenaline. You took just a moment to take a few shallow breaths, but otherwise didn't hesitate to shove it into your mouth, desperate to placate and do what you could to lessen your Master's fury.
It was like some sort of divine torment from Celestia itself that you had to deal with something... you supposed the best word would be reptilian, in the anatomical realm. Your body was fully humanoid, mating organs designed to align to an equally fully humanoid body of the opposing sex. You didn't even know draconic creatures possessed two cocks, and each of nonhuman size at that, until you were firsthand forced to become aware of that information, via being doubly impaled unexpectedly. There was some control over the degree of form such beings as him took, varying transformative levels that could be achieved at will, and you were sure it was entirely possible to maintain the fortunate human trait of having only one -- but that was a luxury you were not granted.
You took a gasp for breath as your mouth detached with a popping sound, turning your head and immediately taking the other into your mouth, reaching to work the first with your hand, aided by the residual lubrication of your own saliva, and the existing layer of... whatever it was, some sort of mucin-like lubrication that coated them already. Your hand couldn't fully wrap around it, couldn't close so that your fingers would have touched, instead trying to twist your wrist as you moved your hand up and down.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to force it further into your mouth, but your body stiffened as it triggered your gag reflex when it hit the back of your throat, not even half of it in your mouth. You tried to inhale as much air as you could through your nostrils, summoning the mental willpower to try and force it past the barrier of your throat.
You must have hesitated too long, though, or perhaps your effort was merely too poor to be sufficient. Your eyes snapped open when you felt a hand on the back of your head, but you could only let out a soft sound before your head was shoved downward.
Your stomach retched in involuntary reflex, abdominal muscles spasming as you tried to adjust. Your eyes watered once more, blurring your vision. Another hand latched to the back of your head, and pulled your head back before shoving it back down again. Over and over. It took all your focus and willpower to prevent yourself from getting sick, although you still managed to make some sort of sucking motion with your mouth, more out of mechanical instinct than active effort.
And it was painful, it was sore, from having had the same thing done shortly before. Like a wound being reopened over and over, there was never enough time between occurrences for you to heal from the bruises and scratches and stretched muscles of the former occurrence before it repeated.
After a moment, your head was pulled back all the way, a popping sound as your mouth detached. You took heaving, ragged breaths, desperately trying to suck in air before your head was guided to the side and the action repeated on the other, jerking your head up and down again, filling your throat to the point of a burning pain as it stretched. You could physically feel it stretching the walls of your throat, in and out, over and over. You began to feel lightheaded as you failed to sufficiently inhale through your nostrils.
"...Now—"
Your head was pulled off with harsh force. You took a long, heaving gasp for air, but within the same moment, you were jerked back upwards.
The movement was so fast and forceful that you were too disoriented to even process it. Your balance teetered, your stumbled as your arms were each held, fabric pulled off, stripping you down, before slamming your body back down onto the bed face-down. Prodding your legs with a gentle kick forced them wide apart to balance yourself, his hand pressed down on your back just below the neck, so that the soft whimpering sounds you made were muffled by the sheets. You grimaced as the nails dragged a short ways down your spine.
You grimaced, face contorting with the sting as you felt something prodding against the already raw flesh of the entrance of each orifice. "Wait, wait, I'm not—AH!"
Despite everything else being so prolonged and dragged out, this time, you were not granted a single second of hesitation or anticipation, no doubt intentional, so that you had no opportunity to mentally prepare yourself, so that the disorientation made the feeling of impalement come as a sudden shock.
You were unable to suppress a squeal as they both slid into your body at once, one into your cunt, the other into your ass, stretching already sore and spent muscles and pressing against bruised flesh, albeit the latter more innately discomforting and foreign, the stretching sensation far more intense. The sheer stretch of the size would have been painful even if your insides weren't already hypersensitive and rubbed raw. Your legs spasmed, kicking as a reflexive instinct, leaning your full weight forward.
You took rapid heaving, gasping breaths, trying to turn your head to the side so that your breathing wasn't inhibited and suffocated by your face pressed downward into the mattress. The noise that came out of your throat was strained and miserable, a long, high-pitched cry.
As another natural reflex, your body's first instinct was to get away, to remove the intrusion penetrating your insides. Your back arched downward in an attempt to pull yourself off, desperately clawing at the sheets, but you were grabbed at the hip and pulled back with force, sheathing fully inside you.
It felt full. Like your body was stuffed beyond its capacity, that there was too much within it. Intrusive, setting off some innate sense of alarm triggered by forcing something into your body of a size that it wasn't designed for; even for just the cock stuffed into your quim, the object itself registered as something foreign rather than a natural process of all living beings. The muscles reflexively clenched down and spasmed. Your breathing had just barely begun to slow as your body adjusted, before you stiffened at the friction against your insides as the intrusion pulled back, sliding out of your body.
You struggled to form words coherently. "Wait, wait—"
And squealed, a high-pitched cry, when his hips slammed forward again, driving back into your body once more. The movement felt as if it sent a shockwave running up your spine, from the point of collision to your insides.
His fingernails dug into your hips. The sharp ends broke the skin.
Again, and again. The friction burned, but the most intense sensation was the fullness and the impact — pain and soreness, but also unmistakable, unavoidable, natural pleasure that sparked with each movement as it rubbed against some specific spot inside. Your legs trembled from the intensity of the sensation, your mouth hung open, both drawing in gasping breaths, and spilling saliva out of your mouth, dribbling off your chin onto the sheets.
You had almost begun to melt into the pleasure when a harsh smack made you jolt. The sound bounced off the walls, the pain was a harsh sting where the palm of his hand had met the soft flesh where your backside and hip met. Your body lurched forward again, but was once more harshly pulled back to impale you again.
You made a pained sound, teeth grinding. "Ah, mmn— I'm sorry, I'm so—"
Another jolt of pain, leaving a hot sting against the flesh. You whimpered.
A third. A fourth. A fifth. It hurt. You squealed and cried out, struggling to form borderline incoherent begging. It did not help that the flesh of your ass was already so raw from similar previous corporeal punishments, for a range of offenses so broad and the offenses themselves so numerous you couldn't recall them all. Each inhale you took in had a coarse, ragged sound to it, as if choking on air. You sputtered out pleas and apologies, before your shoulder was grasped and pulled you upward, so that your knees rested on the mattress, and your torso was almost upright, slightly leaning forward. The thrusts to your insides slowed, more so grinding into your body, but did not cease.
"I still have difficulty believing you understand the severity of your offense."
"I do!" Your voice cracked as you spoke. You could hear how pathetic your own pleading voice sounded. "I really do, I promise, I'm sorry!"
There was a sigh, you could feel the fall of his chest against your back.
"You are so very fortunate," he continued. "You're taken care of to the utmost, you're given the highest standard of life one can have..."
"I know! I know, I, I am, I-I'm grateful—"
You cut off in a squeal with a harsher thrust, nails scraping down your hip so forcefully your face contorted with pain.
"You expect me to believe that, when you were preparing to throw aside everything I've given you?"
"I..."
You didn't have an excuse, and in your current state of mind, overwhelmed by pain and pleasure and fear and anger, there was no way you could summon such complex thought as to come up with one. Your brain could only come up with the automated, mechanical responses, the rehearsed phrases and words you were supposed to give, that you were trained and conditioned to give over the course of time -- I'm sorry, please forgive me, I won't do it again, so on and so on.
Thus, unable to come up with anything better, you merely hung your head, shoulders shaking with sobs as you gave the only answer you could think of.
"I'm sorry..."
He sighed again. "That's the best answer you can give, then?"
But after a pause, he added, with a smirk you could hear in his voice even if you couldn't see it,
"Or are you just too overwhelmed to think straight?"
You only whimpered. It was too much. The fullness, the soreness, the sparks of pleasure, it all was too much put together, overloading your brain. You shook your head, not so much in a negatory response to the question as it was just an expression of your desperation and clouded mind.
You grunted in surprise as you were lifted by an arm around your waist, coming to be set down so the balls of your feet touched the ground — although they shook so badly they were virtually useless, the vast majority of your weight supported by his arms. Your body was bent forward at the waist, one arm around it to support you, the other coming to grasp at your throat, essentially holding you up. Another thrust made you squeal again, feet stumbling against the ground.
Even in your overwhelmed state, the realization felt like a punch to the stomach.
It was no coincidence, no mistake, that you were positioned this way. Bitter, helpless fury swelled in your chest.
The exact same position you'd been held in that first time, squealing and crying and cursing as you were relentlessly fucked out in the open, before a multitude of your own subjects and other deities caught up in the combat.
It was true, as he'd said, that you had made a mistake that cost you. The other gods that you'd faced were, by comparison, so utterly weak, even non-combative deity a like yourself had managed to fend them off. You had known stronger gods existed, but the degree was such that it was beyond your ability to fathom, a level of strength far beyond what you ever would have imagined until you came to know it firsthand.
Thus, when the draconic god had approached you, you didn't feel threatened. In fact, you had felt insulted when he had given you a choice. That you could be spared from death by agreeing to relinquish your rule, and submitting to subjugation without resistance. And that otherwise, you could die fighting.
That was the first time you recalled that smile. You didn't even remember exactly what you said, but you hadn't even hesitated. Something to the effect that you would kill him, take him down, something of that nature.
That same grin, a soft chuckle. But lacking in excitement. Not the way one would laugh and grin before facing an opponent that would still be a thrill to fight. Instead, amused, as if finding it cute.
Is that so?
Even back then, the tone, the notion that you weren't even being treated as a worthy opponent, that he wasn't even worried, had enraged you, and in foolishness, you had rushed right into conflict.
It had lasted less than a single minute. To even call it a fight was not entirely reasonable; it was more you being slung around like a ragdoll across the near vicinity, over and over until you were beaten down to the point of immobility. A matter of seconds, before you were caught crawling, pressed up against that wall. And after your begging, after your pleading, you'd found yourself just like this.
The balls of your feet barely touching the ground, weight held up almost entirely by the hand on your jaw and the arm latched around your waist, desperately clawing at the former out of pure instinct with one hand, the other helplessly reaching behind you and pawing at the hips that slammed into yours, pushing back as if it would do any good, as if your weak pressing would actually stop the movement. Body weight tilted forward, knowing that you'd fall flat if he were to let go, only serving to further the feeling of panic.
At least now, there wasn't an audience gawking at the sight, but the degradation burned in your chest all the same.
It must look so miserable, so pathetic. If you had maintained your resilience and pride — then, and now — you would have stayed still. If you could endure it with a straight face, without making a sound, without struggling, that would have been a powerful move to play, would have wounded your tormentor's own pride, a metaphorical spitting back in his face. That should have been what you had done.
But you were weak. You squealed and flailed. Obscene sounds came out of your mouth, lewd and pained at the same time. Tears streamed down your face.
You did struggle, but to no avail. Writhing, kicking, flailing with every ounce of strength you could muster did nothing, the movements continued as if you were perfectly still.
The absolute utmost of your strength was nothing.
It was a feeling of complete and utter helplessness, futility, weakness, unlike anything else you'd ever known in the span of your lengthy existence.
And you knew you would never be able to exact revenge, would never be able to satisfy the anger. You could never exert it, release it, feel the relief of catharsis that came with finding a way to exert the negative emotion.
Beings such as yourself lived indefinitely. If you had been human, you might have been able to longingly wait for the day that death could relieve you of your humiliation and bitter anger.
But with power came responsibility, and with allowances came restrictions. That escape was a mercy you were not allowed, nor would he ever allow any circumstances under which you could do so yourself. A bedroom ceiling far too high to even reach, a mirror unbreakable — you had tried — and never given anything you could turn on yourself.
The hopelessness was crushing.
You stumbled over your loose footing, a few rapid steps to rebalance what little of your weight rested on the ground. Perhaps having had the thought to do so from that, the hand around your waist reached downward, hooking an arm under your knee and lifting up, so that your thigh nearly touched your chest, only a small portion of your weight left on the ball of the other foot on the ground. With that, each thrust went deeper into your body, you gasped and cried out at the impact.
As you adjusted, you let your head fall, hanging down limply. It was all too much, too overwhelming. The pleasure and pain receptors of your mind were overloaded, your thoughts began to grow hazy and dull, a sort of blankness that consumed any coherent or complex thought. The pleasure and pain was all there was, the only thing you could process besides the high-pitched cries from your mouth and the distinct sound of wet skin slapping on skin each time his hips met your backside.
His arm tightened onto your waist, and for a brief moment, you were lifted up into the air, whimpering as you were shifted over just a single step or so, not removing himself from you in doing so. The movements started up once more within a second, albeit slower, drawn out, and your body held more upright. You caught an object out of the corner of your eye, and automatically squeezed your eyes shut, turned your head away in a desperate attempt to avoid it.
You could feel his breath against your ear.
"Look at you."
You squeezed your eyes shut harder, rapidly shaking your head. You didn't want to.
But as his hand gripped your jaw once more, this time directly digging the sharp claws into your skin, your eyes opened on reflex at the pain, and you were met face-to-face with your own reflection once more. And once your gaze locked on, despite initial avoidance, you felt as if you couldn't look away.
You were disheveled, limp-looking, as if an inanimate object, dead weight barely kept in balance.
You could physically see his cock inside your body, a bulging shape in your abdomen that looked unnatural, almost grotesque. The flesh around your eyes was swollen and darkened. The scratches visible on your side and hip were irritated, reddened and swelling, but the cuts were shallow, and only in one particular scratch, just a bit deeper than the others, did the tiniest trickle of blood slowly ooze out.
Looking at your face, though, was the worst of it, made that same burning, all too familiar of a feeling, begin to swell. Saliva trailed out of both sides of your mouth, tears and snot ran down your face. Your eyes themselves were irritated and reddened, more tears accumulating, giving your eyes a glassy appearance that reflected what little light poured in.
You stared directly into the reflection. The hand on your jaw, the dullness to your eyes. The way your hands weakly clawed at the arm on your waist. The way even now, albeit merely grinding, the bulge in your stomach shifted, and you could just see, from your angle, where the smallest sliver of the base of his cock was the only remaining length not buried deep inside.
It all seemed to culminate. A knot in your stomach, a weight on your chest. Your lower lip trembled. You felt your body shiver, limbs trembling, as more, heavier tears ran down your face.
His voice was low and quiet, but so unnervingly deep as it was, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.
"Do you understand?"
It was not preceded with a statement of what, exactly, was to be understood. Yet, you did understand nonetheless.
There were many ways to have put into words what that which you understood was. A few different details of things he may have meant. Maybe telling you something about you, something about him, something about the past or the future or the nature of things itself.
Perhaps that was, rather, exactly why he didn't say anything more — because there was no singular, exact statement to be understood. Many, many things that could be said, many aspects and demonstrations of the same concept, merely worded in different ways, but all ultimately the very same.
Any of those things that could be said, all amounted to the same, basic thing: a statement of order. A superior and an inferior, a better and a lesser. Each one true to its place in a million demonstrable ways.
And that, you did, in fact, understand. Even if you wished you didn't have to, wished you could be ignorant to it, and live without the unending, crushing weight of what you knew your place was.
You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded your head, sniffling. "Mm-hnn..."
There was a moment of pause before you heard a response.
"...Very good."
You inhaled a sharp gasp and let out a soft cry as sharper, faster, rougher thrusts resumed, reigniting both the burn and pleasure sensations deep inside your body as it was bent forward once more. You bit your lips between your teeth in an effort to muffle the sounds you made, but this was quickly noticed, and the way his nails dug into your jaw was a command in and of itself, even if you didn't automatically gasp from the pain. With that moment of opportunity, his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing onto your tongue and effectively holding your mouth open.
"Ahh, ah— hah—"
The wanton noises, thus, came without much restraint, albeit muffled and distorted as you tried to form syllables over the protrusion in your mouth, holding down your tongue. You had no resistance left in your body. You merely clung to his arms, one hand planted on each, weak and barely even noticed, not in any way inhibiting him from moving them.
The noises increased in pitch as his other hand reached up from its place on your waist, pinching and rubbing at one nipple, then another, keeping the forearm itself firmly pressed to your abdomen to support your weight.
"Don't take your eyes off yourself."
You had shut your eyes out of the pure intense sensation, but forced them open again. Forced yourself to look into your own eyes, to see your body bent and fucked and claimed. Even the blur of tears didn't mask the miserable shame of your expression — nor the lustful dilation of your pupils, eyes half-lidded and filled with an empty haze of pleasure.
You felt warmer and warmer, a distinct pressure, tingling sensation inside. Your breaths became heavier, louder, faster, your body began to shiver intensely, and your legs squirmed and twitched.
"Not yet."
You let out a long whimper in response, desperate and needy, only to cut off in a gasp as he grabbed your jaw again, forcing your eyes directly forward. This time, your gaze focused on his own reflection — your stomach twisted at that same damned, loathsome grin.
"What do you say?"
But your fury was weakened and exhausted, your spirit beaten and broken. You put up no resistance.
"I'm sorry, M-Master..."
It was bitter on your tongue, like poison in your throat. You hesitated, not wanting to finish the plea out of pure shame, but the physical sensation was quickly becoming overwhelming. The wet, squelching, smacking sound of skin on skin reverberated in your ears, a lewd sound that only triggered further innate senses of pleasure.
"P-please let me... let me cum..." Your head hung downward, your expression contorted with strain. "Please..."
"Don't look away. Look at yourself when you beg."
The command was firm and cold. You bit your lip, but slowly rose your head, forcing yourself to endure the humiliation of the act demanded of you, watching your mouth move with your words.
"Please... let me cum..."
Your lower lip trembled, your eyes stung. The shame of the words felt like a knot in your stomach. You watched as your body moved back and forth with the force of the thrusts, taking in the pleasure-hazed stupor evident on your own face. The warm pressure was unbearable, taking all your willpower to prevent climax.
"Mm." He pulled your torso back from your position where you'd been bent forward at the waist, leaning forward to meet in the middle, so that he could speak directly into your ear. In that moment, you felt him smile, felt his mouth against the side of your face.
"Cum for your God."
The high was an intense one, a euphoria surging through your body from the inside. You gasped for breath. Your insides clenched hard, a reflex that, had you been able to control it, you would have prevented, given the sheer size you clamped down on was such that the muscles strained painfully with the act.
The sound from your mouth was not quite suiting of the word 'erotic' — it was obscene, uncontrolled and unrestrained, high in pitch and accompanied by such trembling and strong involuntary spasming that your feet completely gave way, unable to even stand, held up entirely by an arm that caught what would have been your fall. Your eyes rolled back, and saliva practically poured out of your mouth as your head tilted forward, riding out the high until it was over.
There was not anything to take in with your senses, or any thoughts to be had, mind gone blank, a sort of fog of nothingness. The room seemed to spin. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, head limply hanging downward. Your eyelids felt heavy, slowly closing. Even if something had been said to you, you wouldn't have even heard it. Weight suspended, it felt as if you were floating in the air.
After a duration of time you could not be quite certain of, the high began to dissipate, the adrenaline and dopamine slowly ebbing away.
In their absence, pain began to bloom across your body. The sting from the friction at the entrances of your holes, already so sore beforehand, now burned like fire. Your insides radiated a throbbing, dull pain, battered as if having endured a beating from the inside.
You gasped as the fullness suddenly disappeared, sliding out of your body with a wet, squelching sound. That feeling was always one of the most unpleasant parts of the experience — a hollowed-out feeling, insides clamping down on nothing, spasming and twitching as the muscles began to readjust. A mix of viscous fluids oozed out of each orifice and began to trail down your thighs. Both discomforting, grotesque sensations that made your muscles tense, that made you shudder as you exhaled, only to inhale another sharp breath as a finger trailed up your inner thigh, collecting the semen that ran down your skin before stuffing it back inside of you.
Your feet touched the ground once more, but your legs trembled in exhaustion and aftershock, a violent shivering far more noticeable than that induced by emotion. As the support around you disappeared, you stumbled forward, legs giving out beneath you and folding as you crumpled to the floor, catching yourself on your hands.
"Ah, you poor thing..."
Spoken as if he was not the one to inflict the state upon you, spoken with affectionate, endeared pity. A hand rested atop your head. You were nothing more than a pitiful little creature, in tears over a bit of pain.
You didn't make any move to swat it away, though. Your arms felt as if they were made of stone, heavily weighing down from your shoulders. Your shoulders heaved with each heavy, deep breath you took. All you could manage was to let out a low, quiet whimper.
There was a moment of pause before he stooped down, wrapping arms around your body, lifting you up and setting you down on your bed, sitting upright, albeit slouching forward as soon as you were let go of.
He gave a heavy sigh.
"So fragile... you can't handle anything further. It will have to wait."
Even in your stupor, the statement registered with a vague, distant sense of alarm. You tilted your head back up to him, making a soft little sound, inquisitive and confused.
He titled his head, eyebrows raising with a look of vague surprise.
"...Surely you did not think that was a punishment?"
You didn't respond for several moments. You stared straight forward at him, blinking, slack-jawed and limp. Your eye twitched. Your voice came out small and soft.
"...Wh... What...?"
"...That was..." his hand grasped at your chin and tilted your head upwards. "Merely reconciliation." He smiled, speaking every so casually, but not without that detectable tinge of mirth. "I've done nothing to punish you yet."
Your body twitched all over as you began to curl into yourself, shrinking back with wide eyes. You felt cold all over. You couldn't determine if it was from the sweat on your body, or going into a dreadful shock.
"But that being said," he added, "as I just said, you may lose consciousness if carried out now, and that is obviously unideal. It will have to wait."
Your lip trembled as you tried to speak.
"But I..."
You grimaced at the dry soreness of your throat, that much more noticeable now that the adrenaline was wearing off. It did not go unnoticed.
"...Ah. Don't worry, there's water nearby." He stood back upright. "It's close enough, there's no need to bother some servant with something so trivial. I'll get it for you myself, just one moment."
He spared no hesitation to walk over to the door once more. But then, he stopped.
"...I'd like to imagine it doesn't need to be said, but..."
He turned his head back towards you. A pleasant facial expression and voice, but a clear, subtle threat to his words.
"...you will not leave this room in the meantime."
You stared blankly forward for a moment, only hesitating over the near-comedic value of the statement, almost laughable in the most bitter of ways. You slowly nodded.
"Y-yes..."
He merely gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and stepped through the door.
The door closed. You were left sitting still, staring blankly ahead at nothing. Your limbs, eyes, and body still gave the occasional twitch. A bead of residual sweat trailed down your temple, making the faintest of sounds as it hit the sheets. The whole area between your legs gave you a discomforting, gross wet sensation, fluids drooling out of your holes. But in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to so much as lift a hand to do anything about it, merely sat still and wallowed in the sensation.
You turned your head to the side, only to catch the image of yourself in the mirror once again. Your dull eyes, their emptiness visible even to themselves as they stared back and forth at each other in the reflection.
But after a few moments, you let yourself fall flat on your back onto the mattress, limp and numb, and closed your eyes. You laid still and silent in a half-conscious state, exhaustion and the deep ache across your body pulling you in and out of the brink of sleep.
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#id like to extend an apology to my FBI agent for putting him through yet another traumatizing experience with my search history#Also my very devout 11th grade Bible teacher who taught the class I learned the title from#genshin smut#yandere zhongli#also babys first day on the job as guardian watchbirb 🥺
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To Hold Me Like Water
Pairing: Astarion/GN!Reader or Astarion/GN!Tav
Word Count: 1.4k+
Notes: This fic was completely inspired by this post by @skitpost. It's just a little fluff piece exploring Astarion's ears. It's my first fic ever, and it the first time I’ve written something that wasn’t a research paper in years. I was just really inspired to write something for Astarion. A huge thanks to the incredibly talented @redrocketpanda for editing this for me and making amazing suggestions on how to fix it up!
You had always been intrigued by Astarion’s ears.
Though you would never dare admit your fascination to him or anyone else in your party, you routinely caught yourself watching how his delicately pointed ears subtly twitched whenever he was listening intently to his surroundings. In fact, the way his ears moved ever so slightly when he became particularly emotive was one of the first things that endeared him to you after he made your acquaintance by throwing you to the ground and holding his blade to your throat.
His ears were irritatingly distracting to you, and you longed to touch them. Partly because you were curious how they would feel against your fingertips, and partly because you yearned to see his reaction. You had never touched an elf’s ears before, and you had heard rumors that they were particularly sensitive.
Your relationship with Astarion had progressed in an altogether unpredictable manner over the past few months. What had begun with flirtatious banter and trysts in the woods had developed into something much more profound and intimate. Yet no matter how close you felt emotionally and physically to Astarion, you could never quite convince yourself to reach out and caress his ears. The thought perplexed you. It didn’t matter that you had shared your body with Astarion and known the feeling of his skin against yours - the sheer act of providing a gentle, comforting touch to what you assumed was a particularly sensitive part of his body felt far too intimate.
You assumed your daydreams would remain simply that, until one evening in camp.
The evening had started as typical, with your party enjoying a simple dinner. The day’s battle against an Absolutist stronghold had been particularly bloody, and your friends were exhausted as they sat around the campfire, barely sharing a word. They had all retired early in preparation for the fight ahead, and you and Astarion had withdrawn to his tent to perform what had become one of your nightly rituals.
There had been subtle changes in Astarion’s character since he defeated Cazador and gained true freedom. Rather than hiding his true emotions with sarcasm and charm, he had gradually become more sincere in his interactions with you. Despite this, there were certain parts of him that you assumed would never change, one of the most irritating being his vanity. What had started as a joking offer to pick the remnants of battle from Astarion’s perfectly coiffed locks had become a near nightly routine for the two of you.
Astarion lay languidly between your thighs, his weight resting entirely against your chest as he read through another one of his countless tomes. The two of you sat in silence as you meticulously began removing the gore from his still nearly perfectly wavy hair. He occasionally hummed in appreciation or made a stray sarcastic comment about your hands being too rough for his liking, but the two of you were relatively silent during this time, simply enjoying one another’s company and the dimming glow of the fire.
Tonight, Astarion’s hair was caked in some particularly dense patches of dried blood, and your typical routine was simply not enough to cleanse him to his liking. You had aided him in bathing in a nearby stream prior to this, your hands massaging and tracing his muscles as you removed dried blood and dirt from his skin. He had been unwilling to completely submerge himself in the water, and thus you had resorted to using a damp rag to lift the small amount of remaining blood from his hair and scalp. He appeared at ease against your body as you gently scrubbed with the rag. As the exhaustion of the day set in, your hands became sloppy in their movements as you rushed to finish the task so that you could sleep. Your eyes felt heavy, and you weren’t aware of your proximity to his ears until it was too late.
Your fingers delicately grazed the tip of Astarion’s ear for just a moment, your boddy immediately tensing in response. Astarion’s breath hitched in his chest, the muscles of his back tense against your chest. You couldn’t see his expression from this angle, but you assumed it expressed discomfort.
“I’m sorry, Astarion. I didn’t mean to,” you practically whispered, a sudden fear taking root in your chest. Astarion remained silent, but he did not immediately move to leave you. Your mind began racing, trying desperately to figure out how to fix the situation.
“It’s…quite alright, darling,” he stated. He slowly turned his head to face you. The first thing you noticed was the uncertainty in his eyes as they cast downward - then the slight blush to his cheeks. As his eyes returned to yours, you began to piece together what had happened - Astarion had enjoyed your gentle touch.
“I’ve never been touched like that before.” His words were quiet and tinged with an uncertainty and lack of confidence you rarely witnessed.
“Did you like it?” you asked, a blush beginning to creep onto your face against your wishes as you began to hope against hopes that Astarion would allow you to touch him again.
Astarion thought carefully for a moment before slowly nodding his head. “You know I love your touch, pet,” he attempted to smirk. You knew him too well - this was an attempt to hide his apparent embarrassment and confusion with his usual sarcasm. Yet he seemed to know the charade was no use with you. He sighed. “I did enjoy it,” he stated plainly, allowing himself to lean back against you in defeat.
“Would you like me to do it again?” you questioned, waiting with bated breath.
Astarion’s eyes met yours again. Despite the conflict you could see within his eyes, you also saw the inherent trust he had in you and your relationship. “I think I would like that,” he whispered.
You smiled reassuringly at your lover as you gestured for him to lie back against your chest once more. He quickly complied, closing his eyes as his head rested against your chest once more. You could still feel some residual tension in his muscles as you prepared your hand. You started by gingerly running your fingers through his mostly cleaned hair, faintly scratching his scalp with the edges of your fingernails. Astarion began to relax against you once more as you massaged his scalp. Once his breathing slowed and he began melting to your touch, you allowed yourself to carefully begin tracing the outer shell of his ear with your index finger.
Astarion kept his eyes shut, his head turning toward your touch, as if seeking it.
As your fingers began to trace the pointed tip of his ear, you heard him release a sigh. A smug smile began to pull at the corners of your mouth as you watched the normally ever-composed man melt into your touch. This is what you had desired for so long, and you now realized that you had admired Astarion’s ears not because they were so different from your own, but because they were his. Pride swelled in your chest as you realized you were the first to touch your lover’s ears and make him feel this way. This was uncharted territory for the both of you, and you were not going to let the moment go to waste. The outer shell of his ear felt firm and strong against the gentle touch of your fingertips. You admired the subtle variations in Astarion’s breathing as your index finger danced from his lower ear to the tip. You lavished particular attention to the tip of his ear, staring in near wonder as it twitched against your hand in response. Once you were certain Astarion was comfortable with it, you allowed your second hand to begin tracing the shell of his other ear. The elf looked at ease in your hands.
It was then that you realized you were probably the first person in centuries to see Astarion in any state of vulnerability.
Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you continued your gentle ministrations. After a few minutes, he gently reached for your hands, letting you know that his sensitive ears were beginning to feel overstimulated by your touch. When he turned his head and observed your soft features and the tears you attempted to hide, he repositioned himself to kneel between your thighs. His deft hands carefully clasped your cheeks, and he pressed his forehead to yours.
“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it,” he whispered, then slowly pressed a gentle, yet firm kiss to your lips.
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to bask in your warmth
𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:
“I’m not the only one who would look lovely with ribbons around my wrists, you know.” Your eyes flick up to his own as you wet your lips at the thought—dear, sweet Astarion writhing below you with the same rosebud hue tracing his wrists to keep him pinned as he is able to do nothing but accept the love and pleasure you have to give him.
“Something you think about often, hm?” His lips quirk up in amusement, his eyes finding your own as he basks in the heat from your warm body tucked into his side, thinly veiled interest present in his gaze.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/F!Reader
𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life!
𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.5k
𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: soft fem dom, light bdsm, switch Astarion, use of restraints, body worship, oral sex (male and female receiving), 69, lingerie, face sitting, anal play, anal fingering, double penetration (in two holes), p in v sex, multiple orgasms
MDNI, 18+ CONTENT
𝑎/𝑛: hello hello, this is likely the filthiest thing I've written thus far? idk, but it sure feels like it! this is technically a sequel to another fic of mine (so that i may dream tonight), but you don't have to read it first to enjoy this! I always attempt to write these so that they can be enjoyed individually or as a little series <3. I hope you enjoy and let me know your thoughts! I appreciate and love you, dear readers!!!
ao3 here
masterlist
You peek out from between the small breaks in the painted wood of the partition screen, eyes on Astarion where he lays upon your shared bed—looking quite comfortable, all things considered.
“Darling, how much longer are you going to make me wait?” You can see the mercurial impatience building in the slight downwards tilt of his brows as they move low across expressive crimson eyes, his breath leaving him in an impatient huff as he shifts the tiniest bit on the blankets.
“Patience, Astarion.” You adjust the slip once more around your figure, making sure the rosy silk sits perfectly across your curves, the soft lace falling just above where the matching lace garter rests high on your thigh.
It was a delicate thing, the slip. Astarion had made it for you some weeks ago, every measurement perfectly tailored to caress your every curve as it falls to the tops of your thighs, delicate lace trim tickling the skin there with every move you make.
What lay underneath the dainty slip, though, was a surprise. You had tried so very hard to find the perfect set of lingerie, making sure the color matched as closely as possible to the same pink of the ribbon that had once wrapped around your wrists in bows, keeping you bound in place to the bed.
The words come back to you in a warm rush, the memory still fresh in your mind despite the weeks that have since passed.
Still in that delicate haze of your earlier lovemaking, the pink ribbons no longer tied to the bed but resting on the night table instead, your head laying on Astarion’s chest as your body is pressed in close to his own.
“I’m not the only one who would look lovely with ribbons around my wrists, you know.” Your eyes flick up to his own as you wet your lips at the thought—dear, sweet Astarion writhing below you with the same rosebud hue tracing his wrists to keep him pinned as he is able to do nothing but accept the love and pleasure you have to give him.
“Something you think about often, hm?” His lips quirk up in amusement, his eyes finding your own as he basks in the heat from your warm body tucked into his side, thinly veiled interest present in his gaze.
“I think about everything when it comes to you.” You seal the words with a quick kiss to his lips as you brace yourself against his chest.
With one last breath you step out from behind the partition, eyes falling to Astarion as you take in the vision of him tied up with that same perfect, pink ribbon.
He reclines on the bed, the worn softness of the linen blankets brushing across the bare skin of his back as his arms flex against their bonds, testing them from where they extend to either side of the bed, each tied lovingly with perfect, pretty bows around his wrists.
Astarion looks divine like this, his lean figure perfect as he lays there naked, his skin ethereal within the dim light of the room as the finest of silver moonbeams shine onto the floorboards.
“Like what you see?” His eyes rove your own figure as you speak to him from across the room, a hunger evident in his eyes as he looks you from head to toe, taking in the fine silk and lace of the slip that covers precious little of your form.
“How could I not?” You smile with painted lips at Astarion’s reply as you make your way to the bed with slow steps, letting Astarion’s eyes capture the sway of your hips as you near the foot of the bed.
With a smooth motion you glide onto the luxurious linens, moving on hands and knees as you kneel over Astarion’s form, the silken slip brushing over his uncovered skin as you slowly move over him.
You feel more than see the subtle twitch of him as the silk flutters against his length as you hover just above him, careful not to let your body touch his own as you make your way over him.
“If you can be good, maybe I’ll even let you see what I have on underneath.” You keep your words light, playful even as you give him a wink; you have no real intention of keeping much of anything from him tonight and you certainly have no punishments planned.
No, you would worship him as much as he was willing to let you. Prove your love and appreciation of his trust to allow you to bestow this pleasure upon him.
There’s another telltale twitch of his growing erection as you finally make your way to where his head lays on the pillow, your hands pressing into the bed on either side of silver curls as you hover there, looking down on him.
“I have to say, Astarion, you look so very beautiful like this.” You lean your head down towards his own, the tip of your nose brushing down the side of his cheek as you make to whisper into his ear, lips brushing absentmindedly against his skin, a small shiver making its way through his body at the tiniest semblance of touch from you.
It was tantalizing to be in control like this, to have Astarion tied up beneath you and at the mercy of your whims and desires. But it was a careful balance, one you were so deeply and intimately aware of—the many implications of Astarion’s trust in you, that you would never stray too far beyond his comfort level; the fact that Astarion has even given you a chance to have such power over him at all may be the most important detail of it all.
You lower your body down to rest on his, silk against cool skin, as your hands move to run through his hair in soothing motions. Astarion’s eyes search the features of your face, waiting for further instruction as his legs widen beneath you, welcoming your weight between them as your stomach presses against his own.
“Astarion,” His name on your lips captures his attention, his eyes snapping to your own. “You have to promise me that you will use your word if you need to.”
You watch as the weight of your words fall upon him, Astarion nodding in agreement as a familiar affection fills his gaze.
“You have my word, dearest.” Astarion gives you the smallest of smiles as you lean down to press your lips to his own, sealing the promise with a kiss.
Astarion’s lips press back against your own, your lashes fluttering shut as you bask in the feeling of it. You lean back only slightly, just enough for you to lick at his bottom lip, asking for entry. Astarion obliges, opening his mouth to you as you meet him, your tongue swirling with his own as you deepen the kiss.
With the slightest motion you move back to take his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping it lightly, enjoying the small sound he makes in response as you begin to move your lips down his elegant jaw, your kisses hot against the coolness of his skin as you head towards the line of his neck.
You settle back onto your knees, your weight pushing off of him as you nip at the skin below his ear, tiny little bites that serve to only make him shiver in response to the feeling of your teeth against his skin.
With the tiniest of kisses, you make your way up the shell of his ear, careful to keep the touch light. He’s always so sensitive here, the delicate point an easy target for you to begin your little plan of worship.
You kiss up to the very tip, the warmth of your breath and the soothing touch of your lips has Astarion letting out a gasp underneath you as his body tenses, the ribbons pulling taut as you give him another soft nip. Astarion groans as you soothe a kiss to the bite, and you don’t have to look back to tell how hard he must be already, even with such little touch from you.
He always was so very susceptible to your attentions, once he let you in, once he trusted you enough to allow you to shower him with the affection.
You smile against his skin as you kiss down the other side of his ear and onto his cheek once more before slowly moving lower, mouth dragging down his neck and onto the sharp collarbones of his chest.
“Your skin is so pretty, Astarion. So soft and smooth…” You nuzzle into the side of his throat as you bring your hands up to caress over the planes of chest, brushing over hardened nipples that have nothing to do with the cool air of the room.
Astarion gives you another one of those delectable little gasps as your lips continue downward, strands of your hair brushing against his bare skin as the heat from your mouth makes its way to his nipple.
“Everything about you is pretty though, isn’t it?” You look up at him under lowered lashes, letting your head rest on his chest as you pause your ministrations.
“Well, I certainly like to think so.” Astarion says with his usual air of haughtiness, despite the hardness of his cock bobbing beneath you and those elegant hands of his still bound in pink ribbons.
“I’m quite tempted to agree.” You flash a devilish smile at him for only a moment, before turning your head back down to the open expanse of his chest to lick at his nipple with a flattened tongue.
Astarion moans at the unexpected sensation, his eyes closing in pleasure as his head tilts back against the pillow, the line of his throat exposed. The sight of him brings a flush to your cheeks that runs to the tip of your ears, your own arousal heightening at the obvious bliss that decorates his features.
You bury your face against his chest, kissing and nipping and licking at him while your other hand comes up to give his other nipple attention as well, just as you know he would to you.
Astarion’s sharp little gasps and moans, the bucking of his hips into the space between where yours still rest elevated above him, the sight of his hands flexing against the ribbon binding his wrists is all such a sight—one that you burn into your mind, a memory to be kept and held for the rest of your life.
It was such a gift, to be able to give him the same attentions he so frequently showers your body with, to worship him in such a way beyond your usual loving and affectionate words or gestures. The feeling of the trust that you know stretches both ways giving you a high that is indescribable.
Lips move, kissing their way to his other nipple to give it the same attentions, your hand tracing teasing lines along his abdomen—lower, but certainly not as low as Astarion would like.
His back arches off the bed ever so slightly, your fingers teasing on his hip as your mouth continues its work, his noises only fuel to the fire building between your thighs.
You move down his body with aching slowness, marking the lines of his body with kisses pressed to his skin—the expanse of his chest, the soft lines of definition of his muscles, the dip of hips as you make your way to a destination that waits eagerly for your attention.
You kneel between his open legs, careful to avoid any touch on his erection as it rests against his stomach, bobbing as your lips move closer and closer, your hands on his hips gently pushing him into the mattress.
With a motion to the side you avoid where he wants you most as your lips press against the skin of his hips instead, so near and yet so very far from where his cock waits for the promise of your warm mouth.
Kisses and licks press on either side of his body as you continue, reveling in the precome that leaks from the tip of him and the soft cries from his throat. You had always assumed Astarion would be vocalwhen being denied, though you never quite thought he would be so wordless and without clever retorts, instead reduced to these small little sounds.
“Ah! darling…” Astarion’s voice is tight with unfulfilled pleasure as your tongue licks close and his hips buck against your grip on them, the sound of the slightest bit of desperation in his words enough to have you looking up.
Astarion’s head leans up off the pillow as he watches you, panting breaths escaping from his lips as he pulls the bonds tight, the expression on his face one of open yearning.
The silk of your slip brushes against his erection as you move back up his body with the intent of mercy, the smoothness of the fabric providing the slightest bit of friction that has Astarion bucking into your stomach in an attempt at relief, a sigh of relief leaving his lips as you feel tiny dots of his precome decorate your slip in a line.
“I thought I told you to be patient.” You flick his nipple lightly in response, his hips jumping into your own once more. With one last kiss to his chest, you rise atop him, your knees on either side of his hips, your bodies no long touching.
“Since you’ve been so good, I’ll give you a little treat. What do you say, love?” You run your hands down your front with little hurry, Astarion’s eyes following your every move as he watches your fingers finally curl around the lacy hem.
Astarion looks positively wrecked as you look down on him, the duality of being touched and kissed and licked but never where he so desperately needs feels almost cruel, his length painfully hard despite it never once being touched.
With unhurried hands you drag the slip up your figure, baring yourself to him inch by inch as he watches before you move to pull it over your head and throw it onto the ground beside the bed where it pools onto the floorboards to be forgotten.
Astarion’s eyes make their way up and down your figure, taking in the flush of your nipples from underneath the light colored lace that ensconces your breasts, pushing them up just so.
You’re unable to help yourself as you lean over his torso, hand caressing his jaw as you press a firm kiss his plush lips, nipping at his bottom lip once before pulling back upright.
“You’ve truly outdone yourself, darling.” You let Astarion’s praise wash over you, smile on your lips as you brush your hands over your breasts, fingers teasing above the lace as you luxuriate in the open wanting on his features below you.
What Astarion is not quite so prepared for, though, is your panties.
He doesn’t even notice them at first, simply passing the lacy undergarment over with his eyes once before returning up where your breasts sit high. The thought that your usually observant lover fails to recognize the fact that the small triangle of lace only conceals the very front of you while leaving your entire center bare only serves to send your confidence soaring ever higher.
The underwear—if you could honestly even call them such a thing—was simply that tiny bit of pink lace at the front, the rest nothing but the satin of the waistband and then two matching strips curving around the plumpness of your rear, leaving the entirety of your core and behind exposed to the cool air of the room.
It’s not until his gaze makes its way further down your body once more, claret eyes caressing your skin without touch as he takes his time to truly admire, that he sees the slightest bit of your center peeking out from under where the lace ends, his eyes zeroing in on the space between your hips as you widen your knees to better clue him in.
“Dearest, are those…” His words run off as you smirk, letting a hand run down your body and over the front of the ouverts to run lower instead, fingers brushing over soft lace before disappearing to run through your uncovered slit.
“Open at the bottom? Yes, they are.” Astarion’s mouth dries out as those fingers of yours come back up, hints of dewy wet glistening on your fingertips. His eyes watch with interest as you extend your hand towards his mouth and you delicately press damp fingertips against his lips.
He opens his mouth, pink tongue darting out to lick greedily at your slick on them. His tongue on your fingers has heat surging down into your empty cunt, and you can feel the heat blooming on your cheeks, certain that your arousal must show on your face with the way Astarion’s lips curve up into a smirk.
“I can do so much more with my tongue if you’ll let me have a real taste, my love.” He speaks the words with your fingers still touching his lips, pressing a small kiss to the delicate pads of them.
“A taste of what, exactly?” You tilt your head in mock confusion as you purse your lips, moving your hand from his mouth to instead trace the curve of his jaw.
“Oh, I think you know, darling.” His smile is pure sin as his lashes lower over half-lidded eyes, the picture of seduction as he lays beneath you, ready and waiting.
“I’m not so sure I do. I think I need you to spell it out for me.” You move your knees further up his torso despite your playing coy, your empty core all the closer to his waiting mouth as you feel curls of anticipation at the mere thought.
“What I want, dear mistress, is for you to move up here and put that sweet cunt of yours on my face.”
Astarion’s head leans up, mouth moving towards your thigh as his teeth grab at the garter resting there, pulling at it and letting it go. It snaps back against your skin, the slight sting making you jump as you narrow your eyes down at him.
His smile is nothing but deviant in response.
“And here I thought I was the one in charge.” You raise a brow at him, a corner of your lips quirking up in amusement.
“Are you honestly saying that this wasn’t part of your plan when you picked those out? Darling.” Disbelief colors his every word as his own eyebrows raise in skepticism.
“A mistress never tells.” You move to kneel above where Astarion lays his head on the crochet-trimmed pillow, steadying yourself on the carved wood headboard beneath your fingers as you widen your knees around his face.
His head moves to the side, pressing light kisses against the skin of your upper thigh, though his eyes don’t leave your exposed core, the lace stopping right before the place your slit opens to him. He can see everything like this, your center spread above his face, all soft and wet for him.
“Are you sure, Astarion?” You look down at him, waiting for his confirmation before you lower yourself down despite the hypnotic kisses he places along your thighs.
“There could be no finer honor than that of your sweetness upon my lips. So do it.” Such dramatics from a man currently trussed up with nowhere to go. There’s an open ardor to his words despite his levity that has you lowering yourself down upon waiting lips with little ceremony, eager to give both of you a reward.
The first touch of his tongue on you is euphoric, your eyes rolling back as he laps at your waiting wetness in time with the soft moans that fall from your lips.
Astarion’s tongue dives deep into your center as he whorls around your walls before he exits to lick up to your clit instead. He continues like this, a little pattern designed to drive you wild as he alternates between deep passes inside your cunt to sweet little licks around your clit, your moans ringing out in time with his mouth on you.
He’s always been so talented at pleasuring you like this, though the feeling is seemingly more intimate with your thighs around his head, body lowered down onto his face as you ride his mouth, his tongue precise as he pleasures you.
He laves at your center, leaving no part of your most intimate place untouched by him as he worships you, just like this. It would be so easy to come for him, to feel him drink up your very essence as it spills from your body with the same vigor he does the blood that runs from your neck.
Your hips jump as he presses against the small pearl between your legs just right, a soft gasp falling from your open lips as tension begins to grow deep in your belly with the pleasure. Astarion moans against your pussy, the sound and vibration of it only bringing you that much closer to the inevitable end.
“Let me hear you, love.” Every word has his lips brushing against your sensitive skin before he flattens his tongue, licking a broad stripe up the center of you before his lips attach to your clit, sucking at it.
You keen above him, letting him hear the soft moans and whines that fall from your lips as your lashes fall shut. It’s an effort to keep yourself up, knuckles turning white as you grasp onto the hard wood in front of you, Astarion’s pace intent to hurtle you towards completion far sooner than you would like, especially when you have other equally delicious ideas in mind as well.
You summon your will as you move your hips up and away from his mouth despite Astarion’s noise of protest, your own impeding orgasm ruined as you catch your breath.
“Oh, hush. I have a better idea.” You smile down at him between inhales and exhales of air, swiveling your body around to face your front towards the foot of the bed instead of the headboard.
“You’re the one in charge, dearest.” Astarion makes a show of licking at his lips in a way that has your flush deepening, the pink of them glistening with your slick.
You lower yourself back down onto his waiting lips, letting his tongue get back to work flicking against your clit as you lean your body down over his own, lace covered breasts pressing into his the hard lines of his stomach as you find yourself face to face with the evidence of his arousal.
Astarion’s ministrations pause as he feels you finally grab his aching cock between your hands, your lips finding the crown and placing a soft kiss, coating your lips in the precome beaded there.
Instinctively his hips buck into your waiting lips, the needy moan that falls from his throat music to your ears as you let your tongue peek out from behind your lips to lap at the head.
Astarion buries his head into the apex of your thighs, tongue lashing at your entrance as you lick down the length of him. Your tongue moves up and down his shaft as he licks into your core, each of your working towards the other’s release.
With plush lips you take him inside your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you work him in as far as you can without choking, a hand coming up to assist in the act as to stroke the length of him that doesn’t fit inside. Your head bobs up and down, hair soft as it brushes against his thighs.
You pay your own pleasure no mind as you focus on the feeling of his cock in your mouth and on your lips, the taste of him mixing with your saliva with every pass up and down him.
You pop off his cock to lick, following a vein as you reach the base before swirling your tongue back up him again to suck on the head. Your let your weight rest on him as your other hand glides down his body and past where your mouth sucks at him to brush a teasing touch against his balls.
Astarion lets out a deep moan into your core, tongue pushing into your entrance as his nose brushes against your clit as he eats you out. With soft hands you squeeze lightly, cupping them in your palm as you take his length into your mouth once more.
You can see the tension in his thighs as your hands and mouth work in tandem, his mouth losing its cadence on you as you suck and lick and touch, eager to drive him to brink before you lose yourself to the cascade of pleasure heading towards you.
With a hard suck to his cock and a squeeze of the hand cupping his balls you feel Astarion tense beneath you, his hips bucking into your open mouth as his moans fill the air.
Astarion comes on your tongue in spurts of white that you drink down, swallowing his spend as you stroke him through his orgasm. His cum is warm as you swallow, the taste of him familiar as you let his hips thrust into your mouth.
He comes down from his high slowly and you finally lift off his softened cock, tongue licking off the remnants of his climax as you move your body to the side of his and look back at him. His head rests on the pillow, hair strewn as the ribbons sit slack, breaths leaving his chest in pants.
“You didn’t come.” Astarion annunciates each word as he cracks open his eyes to look at where you lounge beside him as you make a show of licking your lips.
“I had other pressing matters to attend to.” The completion of Astarion’s pleasure at your hands far overweighed your own desire, the point driven home by the sight of him, fully spent.
The raise of his brow is all the answer you receive as he recovers from his orgasm, his breathing evening out as he looks you up and down, gaze assessing.
“Would you do me the favor of freeing me, love?” Astarion makes a show of flexing his hands as he looks at you pointedly, tightening the bonds as he asks for release.
“Was this too much, Astarion?” There’s a slight worry in your tone, the pull of your lips the tiniest bit downwards as a crease between your eyebrows forms. You are quick to move over him, fingers grabbing onto the ends of the ribbons as you pull them undone, moving from one hand to the next.
“Oh, far from it, my dear.” Astarion’s hands dart out to connect with your waist, running up and down the skin he has yet to get to touch. His eyes follow his hands as they move up your ribs.
“In fact,” Astarion continues, “I could have taken much, much more. But I find myself wanting something else you have to offer.”
His hands tighten around your waist as he sits up faster than you could have expected, the hands bracketing your sides now giving you a gentle push onto your back as you give a small noise of surprise.
Astarion captures both your wrists in his hands and pins them above your head, newly freed fingers flexing as they circle your wrists. His nose brushes the skin of your neck, breathing in your scent as his tongue flicks out to taste your skin, his body hovering above your own as he pushes you harder into the linens.
He licks a line down the column of your neck that has you arching up into him, the coolness of his lips against the heat of your own skin always a sensation beyond description.
With slow kisses, he works his way across your collarbone and onto the swells of your chest, lips and tongue and nose brushing against the skin there as he caresses his cheek against the lace of a still covered breast.
With the turn of his head, he mouths at a nipple, the lace darkening with the wetness of his tongue against the now pebbled peak.
He buries his face in the cleavage made from the lingerie as he makes his way to your other breast, a hand coming down from where he keeps your wrists above your head to thumb at the damp lace left from his mouth.
“This has been quite the reward.” He licks over your other nipple as his fingers play with its twin, your lashes fluttering shut as your hips jump into his own.
“You deserve it. And more.” You whisper the words on a shaky exhale, Astarion’s cock already hardening once more as you roll your hips into his, pressing against his erection.
“Always such a sweetheart.” He punctuates his words with kisses up the line of your chest as he moves up a hand to cradle your cheek, his lips meeting your own with a tenderness he bestows upon no other being but you.
“On your knees, darling.” You hear that soft command in his voice, the sound of it kindling to the fire deep in your belly as you nod, his hands releasing you as he leans back to give you space to move. You turn over for him, pillowing your head onto the soft covers as you prop your knees up on the bed, spreading your legs for him.
You feel his hands caress the skin of your hips as they move up to your waist, his eyes glued to your dewy center exposed to him like this. He moves his hands up to your shoulders, fingertips briefly digging into the skin there as he rubs away any tension he feels before they trail back down the skin of your spine, fingertips moving vertebrae by vertebrae with impossible slowness.
“You had your fun, and it was absolutely delicious,” Astarion grips your hips as he leans forward to press a burning kiss to the base of your spine before leaning away once more, a hand moving lower to brush through your wet folds. “But now, I want to have mine.”
He gathers your arousal with slow, teasing passes of his fingers, moving up and down your slit from your entrance up to your clit and back again as he wets them in your slick, soft moans leaving your lips from his light touch.
“What a good girl you’ve been, picking out such pretty things and pleasing me so. You are far too good to me.” Two of Astarion’s fingers dip into your entrance, pressing in lightly as they glide in ever so slowly until they are fully seated inside you to the knuckle before pumping them in and out. “But you are an absolute menace in these panties, darling.”
You whine at the sensation, though the pleasure ends far too quickly. Almost as soon as it starts, Astarion’s fingers leave your aching pussy, pulling out of you slowly to trace around your entrance instead as you let out a noise of discontent.
“Patience, sweet thing.” He repeats your earlier words back to you as he collects more of your slick before moving them once more, fingertips brushing past your entrance to somewhere else instead, your wetness leaving a streak of arousal up the cleft of your bottom.
You gasp as the tip of a finger brushes over your other hole, body reflexively tensing as he rubs over the puckered entrance, spreading your slick in a light circle around it. Astarion keeps his touch feather light, small and simple circles that trace around the entrance, not yet working to press his finger inside you.
Even just the barest of touches on such a sensitive area has you swallowing in anticipation, the fire deep inside your body raging as you wait for him to give you more. More pleasure, more pain, more anything.
Astarion leans down towards your raised hips to press kisses to the roundness of a cheek, dragging his lips across your skin closer to the place where his finger keeps up its exploration.
You feel his fingertip move away only to be replaced by the wetness of his mouth. He licks at your hole, his tongue ringing circles around the sensitive entrance as his hands come up to spread your cheeks. The feeling of his tongue pressing onto such a place has you crying out, hips bucking into his face as he continues.
“Fuck, Astarion.” You pant, eyes closed against the pleasure as you breath out the words.
You feel him hum against you in response, tongue pressing harder against you as your moans turn desperate. Astarion’s finger joins back in with his tongue, coming to massage you as his tongue still licks.
He presses a soft kiss before he leans away, his own breathing heavy as he sits up. Your eyes open at the sudden absence to look back at him, taking in the sight of him with pupils blown wide in lust as his cock sits erect between his legs.
Astarion shifts slightly as he reaches over you and into his night table, fingers quickly finding his prize. He sits back upright, a hand brushing soothing fingertips across your lower back as he holds up the small vial of oil between his elegant fingers, the viscous liquid slowing moving from side to side before sliding down the glass.
You watch with bated breath as he uncorks the vial and dribbles the oil over his fingertips before moving it to dribble over your ass. The oil is cold as it drips, bringing a chill over your body as Astarion quickly corks it and lays it aside.
His finger touches you once more, smoothing the oil over your entrance with slow, soft motions as he readies you. His other hand comes to rest upon your hip, thumb brushing soothing lines up and down into your skin as he finally presses the very tip of his finger into your ass.
The feeling is visceral as it sends a spike of heat straight to your empty cunt, your body parting for him easily with the help of the oil, the sensation one so unlike any other.
Astarion leans in, his lips caressing the skin of your lower back, pressing soothing kisses as he slides his finger deeper, drawing a low keen from your lips as the pleasure increases with every inch his finger slides.
His finger finally fills you to the knuckle, Astarion giving it an experimental wiggle inside you. Your moans fill the room, eyes squeezed shut as you exhale, pleasure striking deep inside with that singular motion. With a slow, delicate movement, Astarion begins to pull his finger out, carful to leave the tip still inside, before he pushes back in.
Astarion lets his finger move with slow, even thrusts as your voice echos off the walls of the room with his every motion.
“Does that feel good, darling?” He keeps his voice quiet, but the undercurrent of heat you can hear in his words only adds to your building pleasure.
“Gods, yes.” Your words are a sob as you are unable to help the small noises leaving your lips as his finger moves, Astarion alternating between thrusting his finger and wiggling it deep inside, each action driving you closer and closer to the edge.
Your core squeezes empty as heat builds inside of you, your own denial of your pleasure earlier making it all burn all the hotter as Astarion lets his finger work you up higher and higher, edging you closer to your climax.
“Can you take another?” His words are soft, questioning, as his free hand grabs the vial on the bed, uncorking it with his mouth while he waits for your answer, drizzling more oil onto you.
You nod, unsure of your ability to form coherent words as Astarion has you on the brink like this, so close but still so far from your orgasm. You feel his finger pull out only to be joined by another, and together his two fingers press in to your body. Astarion gives you time to acclimate, working in slowly and stopping to give you time, only moving deeper once he is confident your body is ready.
“Are you alright, love?” Your heart could melt at the affection in his voice as you nod your head to him again, your lashes fluttering against your cheeks as your cheeks flush.
By the time both his digits are seated full inside, you feel lost to the pleasure, the slight stretch of pain only adding to the euphoria as Astarion pumps his fingers softly, your body writhing.
“Should I fuck your pretty ass open with my fingers? Get it all nice and ready for my cock later?” You whine at his words as he scissors his fingers, stretching you ever so slightly more as he says the words.
He can see the evidence of his ministrations, a new gush of arousal leaking from your cunt with filmy strings sticking to your entrance. He leans his head down, pressing his tongue out as he circles your entrance, licking at the slick he sees as his fingers keep working inside your ass.
“I want you to come, dearest, can you do that for me?” His tongue finds its way to your clit, giving it the smallest little licks as he waits for your answer.
“Yes. Please.” The words are barely a whisper, desperate and needy. Astarion obliges you, though, licking faster as his fingers keep up their motions.
Astarion draws your pleasure out masterfully, though it doesn’t take long for you to hit the peak, the flat licks of his tongue on your pearl and fingers pressing deep inside bringing you to your climax within what feels like mere seconds.
You cry out as the heat crescendos, your hips bucking as you finally fall over the precipice of your pleasure, mouth opened in an almost silent moan as white hot heat fills your body.
Astarion licks at your clit softly as you ride the wave of completion, fingers slowing in your ass as you come hard, your knees weakening from the strength and overwhelm of it.
You collapse onto your stomach, a veil of tears lining the edges of your lashes as your body still writhes with the aftershock of your orgasm, Astarion’s fingers pausing as you come down from your high.
“For fuck’s sake, Astarion.” You breathe out on a soft laugh, eyes still closed as you feel the slightest bit of drool on your cheek you failed to notice.
“Oh, I’m not done with you yet.” Astarion’s smirk is incorrigible as you feel his hardened cock pressing at the entrance to your cunt, the fingers still inside you wiggling ever so slightly once more.
“Do you think you can you take my cock, darling?” He leans over your back as he says the words, pressing his chest into your hot skin as he whispers them into your ear softly. The position has his fingers pressing harder, pleasure already beginning to build back up inside you.
“I think you already know the answer to that.” You buck your hips back into his waiting hardness, the tip of him breaching your walls has both of you sighing at the feeling.
“Always so insatiable, my love.” Astarion rocks his hips forward, pressing in slightly as he nips at your ear and his free hand grips your hip harder.
“It’s a wonder where I could have learned it from.” Your words are a gasp as he thrusts into your warmth with little warning, filling you in his entirety in a single stroke.
The fullness of him nestled deep inside your core while his fingers fill your ass is sheer bliss, a sensation that you weren’t sure you would ever get used to no matter how many times you’ve had tastes of this particular type of pleasure.
“So tight, sweet thing.” Astarion groans into your ear, hips still as he lets you acclimate to him. He presses a soothing kiss to your temple as he slowly begins to move his fingers once more.
Every movement of his fingers feels multiplied with Astarion filling both your entrances, your cunt clenching on him as you moan. You move your hips with a subtle motion, wanting as much from him as he would give you.
“Fuck me, then.” You press back into him as much as you can with him inside you, both front and back filled to the brim with him.
“Impertinent little thing.” Astarion tsks as he swats at your bottom playfully, moving his hand up over the curve of your rear to rest on your hip. He squeezes his fingertips into the skin of your hip as he grants you your wish.
Astarion pulls his hips away from yours, his cock dragging against your walls before plunging back in with a hard thrust that has you practically singing before repeating the action once more.
Astarion fucks you hard, hips slapping into the skin of your ass as his fingers piston inside you simultaneously, drawing your pleasure from both entrances as he times his thrusts in and out of your body with near perfect rhythm.
“You look so lovely like this, taking me in both.” Astarion is breathless as he thrusts, his cock hitting deep inside your cunt.
“I know. And I know you love it.” You try to move your hips back into his own, meeting his thrusts as well as you can despite your prone form on the bed. It’s so tight like this, the dual feeling of his fingers and his hardness beyond amazing.
“Oh, I do, darling. I do.” Astarion breathes the words hard as he keeps his pace steady despite the growing pleasure in your belly building up higher once more.
A particularly hard thrust has you both moaning as he leans over, pressing his forehead into your shoulder blade, his panting breaths warm against your own heated skin.
“I want to feel you come around my cock.” The words have you clenching harder around him, body tightening as his fingers continue to move inside your other entrance.
Astarion’s thrusts change their pace ever so slightly, the angle different as he finds the place deep inside that has you gasping in time with his cock. He hits your g-spot each time, the moans that fall from your lips nothing short of euphoric as you near completion once more.
All it takes is one more little quirk of his fingers inside your ass for your thighs to shake and your fingers to grasp at the blankets beneath you in balled fists as your orgasm hits just as hard as the first, eyes squeezed shut in bliss as your hips move against his own as you ride out your pleasure.
The feeling of your body squeezing around his length and fingers has Astation following right after, the warmth of his come filling you deep one you barely notice as his thrusts hit a fever pitch.
Your mind drifts as you come down from the high, Astarion’s thrusts slowing as he too works his way down from his pleasure. He gingerly pulls his fingers from you, moving the digits slowly despite his cock still thrusting lazily into your core, his come leaking from you and onto the linens below.
With one last kiss pressed to the back of your neck Astarion lets his cock leave your warmth, the mess of both of your spends decorating the blankets and your bodies.
Astarion walks over to where the washbasin sits in the corner, grabbing a soft cloth and wetting it before returning to where you still lay face down, catching your breath.
He kneels on the bed beside your body, reaching between your thighs with the cool cloth to clean the mess of cum and oil from your overheated skin.
“I think we made a mess,” You are quick to recover as you move to sit, reclining casually against the bed as Astarion comes to rest beside you.
His fingers dance over your skin in tiny patterns, the tips of them moving across your body as if tracing the lines of the many garments he now spends his time to make.
“Hardly, darling.” Astarion’s fingers dance up towards the clasp holding the lingerie across your chest, flicking it aside with clever feelings as he peels it off your body and throws it. “In fact, I think we can make an even bigger one.”
“Oh? Do tell.” Another raise of your brow, interest piqued.
Astarion climbs over where you lean against the pillows, now his turn to swing a leg across your hips as he straddles your form, eyes looking over the ever so tender skin of your neck as he licks his lips.
“Care for a snack, darling?”
#astarion#astarion bg3#astarion x tav#astarion x f!tav#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion x f!reader#astarion x female tav#my writing#if you think you see a typo no you didn't#I’ve been up almost a full 24 hours but the need was too strong to finish and post this to sleep
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